A Long Winter
by Wicked.Intentions
Summary: Russia/America. When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.
1. I: America's Shadow

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter I: America's Shadow**

_America has a conflict with Russia and believes he is being stalked._

* * *

Bright, oceanic blue eyes blinked behind the lenses that were slipping down the bridge of a nose. Fingers absentmindedly darted up to force them back to their rightful place. He coughed lightly and turned his head away pointedly, attempting to pretend to be interested in the presentation that was taking place at the front of the room. He wasn't sure what had possessed him to sit all the way in the back today, but now he was regretting it due to the intense scrutinization that he was currently being put through. The longer he felt the gaze burning into the side of his face, the more pronounced the angry furrow in his brow became.

His lips curled in a snarl, and he felt himself become agitated with the attention, as surprising as it seemed. Attention-lover America was feeling heavily uncomfortable from the stare coming from across the table. It was getting to the point that he couldn't take it any longer without speaking his mind.

England jumped in mid-rant about his presentation of European issues, alarmed, and watched as his ex-colony abruptly slammed his chair backwards into the wall creating a sizable dent, slapping his gloved palms against the surface of the conference table.

"_What?!_ What the hell do you want?!" America roared, his eyes narrowed in pure disgust at the calm, unfazed person seated just opposite him.

Russia had that small smile on his face, as always, and he visibly brightened at the waves of anger that poured off of the other nation. His violet orbs, which had been engrossed in studying the American during the entire meeting, never parted from the other's. He offered no reply; he simply toyed with the edge of his scarf bashfully. He was as unreadable as ever.

"America, what is the meaning of this?!" England exclaimed, placing his hands upon his hips and sending an annoyed glare down at the younger nation. "I hope you have a very good reason for interrupting the meeting in this barbaric manner!"

"Yeah," America began with a hiss, stabbing a finger in the direction of the nonchalant Russia, "this bastard won't stop staring at me. I won't sit here and deal with it for the rest of the meeting." America felt threatened, and from his already terrible day, this just wouldn't do. He was well out of his comfort zone.

England sighed, long and tiredly. "If you cannot behave yourself, you may leave."

The other nations turned their heads to watch the exchange.

"Fine, I will." America huffed and without another glance at those who were gawking at him, he stormed out of the room. Fuming, he thought over the events of his day and wondered how much worse it could become. He knew he was acting rather eccentric in the presence of the countries of the world, but he found he couldn't control it. If one more person did something to upset him... he knew there would be one less country in the world, courtesy of his own hand. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

He stalked down the hallway, fully intending on leaving the building and returning to his hotel room, which was a mere five minutes' walk from the conference. He clenched his fists until the material of his gloves protested audibly. "Stupid day... I just want to sleep it off. Maybe things will be better tomorrow..."

America burst out of the building into the winter chill of Europe. A breeze swept past him, reminding him that he had forgotten to bundle up warmly when leaving this morning. He shivered slightly and turned his head from one way to the other to insure that it was safe to cross the road. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he lifted his chin and stared up into the darkening sky. His eyes slipped shut while his feet carried him over the icy sidewalk with light, careful treads. He took care not to slip on the frozen water and possibly embarrass himself in front of German onlookers within the streets of Berlin... again.

He collided bodily with a misplaced brick wall and gasped, his eyes flying open. He flailed his arms wildly to regain his balance, but it was fruitless. His feet slipped on the ice below him. He felt himself falling backwards and braced himself for impact and another painful bruise on his backside. However, after seconds of not moving, he realized that something was preventing him from tumbling to the ground. He blinked confusedly up at his savior, almost unable to make out the blurry figures around him. His glasses had flown from his face and skittered across the ground somewhere.

"Amerika, you need to be more attentive when you walk," Russia chirped at him, his strong arms wrapped securely and tightly around the blond man's waist. His lips were curved in his mysterious little smile, and he beamed down at him.

America opened and closed his mouth a few times to mimic a fish, torn between wanting to demand that he be released and wanting to ask why the hell Russia had caught him. He furrowed his brow, settling on his tried-and-true method. "Well, _Russia_, you need to watch where you choose to stand uselessly," he retorted angrily. He could feel that intense, violet stare upon him once again, and he squirmed in discomfort.

Any other person would have dropped their smile and maybe glared, but Russia only smiled wider. "Where are you going?"

America let out a breath, watching it form from his lips and dissipate above their heads. "My hotel room."

"You are not going to continue attending conference?"

"I would," America growled, pushing at the unyielding body attached to him, "but it seems that a certain someone won't stop fucking staring at me."

"Why does it bother you so?" Russia tilted his head to the side, genuine curiosity obvious in his facial features. "I thought Amerika loves attention, da?"

"Sure, I love attention, but not from _you_," he spat out. His efforts to escape the man's embrace proved to be useless no matter how hard he pushed. "Let me go already, man!"

"I will allow you to stand if you will come back to meeting." It was a simple yet curious request, and Russia appeared innocent enough.

America paused, narrowing his eyes in distrust. "Why?"

"I do not wish for you to leave so early," Russia replied, smiling. He leaned forward so that his nose barely brushed the other nation's. "I only wish to observe."

The blond man felt a biting terror creeping up his spine. Russia wanted to observe him? For what reason? He shook it off, and forced a grin on his face despite how uncomfortable he felt with the large man's proximity. "Well, yeah, dude, everyone wants to watch me in action. It's only natural, after all!"

Russia smirked. "Then...?"

"I guess I'll go back," he conceded reluctantly. Though he loathed to admit it, he should not be missing the meeting in the first place.

"Wonderful," the silvery-haired, towering man exclaimed. He released America from his embrace, marveling at the way he missed the tendrils of warmth that had seeped through his heavy beige coat. He glanced down at his gloved hands while America snatched his glasses from where they had landed, spun away from him, and began marching back to the conference room with false cheerfulness. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he shadowed the other man silently.

* * *

When America slipped back into the conference room in the middle of England's presentation, interrupting it for the second time that day, he received an embarrassing scolding once more.

"America, please decide if you would like to stay or leave," England barked, ignoring the fact that Russia had done the exact same thing and seated himself in his chair silently.

"Yeah, yeah," America trailed off, reclaiming his seat across from the intimidating Russian man, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily. For the rest of the meeting, he was silent and lost in the recesses of his mind. He thought back to when he woke up that morning and clutched his stomach when it rumbled in remembrance. He didn't think that day would try his patience as much as it has, but clearly he was wrong. From waking up late and forgetting to eat breakfast to slipping on a patch of ice and falling on his ass in front of a crowd of amused people, he was amazed he hadn't snapped and broken something yet. Glumly, he stared at the wall behind England's head, wishing for something to eat to rid himself of the hunger pangs.

Russia's head was resting upon his hands, propped up by his elbows, and he stared unblinkingly at the blond a few feet away from him. He could feel the nations around him glancing at him from time to time and radiating discomfort from the way he refused to take his eyes off America. However, they were smart and said nothing about it. Nobody was brave enough to say anything against the potentially violent and unstable nation.

He traced the striking features of the strong and handsome America. He took in the unruly blond locks, especially the tuft that jutted upwards from the middle of his parted hair. Those oceanic blue eyes were hypnotizing, even during the times when they were glaring with absolute disgust into his own. That long, pale neck made Russia gulp in a breath of air. His cheeks felt slightly warm. His mind was wandering, and he was unsure of how to think of these unfamiliar thoughts about America. He sunk down into his scarf to hide his blush.

Before long, England concluded his presentation with a flourish, and the gathered countries began dispersing for the day. This was the final meeting for the month, so everyone was free to return home to their own countries.

England, France, Germany, Italy, Prussia, America, and Russia lingered behind.

"How vould you feel about joining me for a drink before you leave mein country?" Germany asked the group, folding his hands behind his back and relaxing his features a bit. "I know ein wunderbar place near here zhat serves some of zhe best beer you vill ever taste. It also has music und dancing." He was given positive replies from everyone but Russia, who ignored him and simply remained sitting in his chair. He shrugged at the silent nation and gestured for the others to follow him so he could escort them to the location he was referring to.

America pumped his fist in the air and smirked. "Man, I'm totally going to meet a ton of chicks tonight and drink myself into a stupor! Who's with me, yo?!"

The others cheered and laughed along with him, their noise fading more and more as they made their exit.

Russia twitched.

* * *

When the men arrived at the club, several were unsure of what to expect. After all, the countries all have different ways of spending their free time. America, however, was stoked, having spent more than enough of his time in and out of pubs, bars, and clubs. He was a party man, and he loved being around other people and letting himself go.

America entered through the heavy double doors at the entrance and grinned at the sight that greeted him. Strobe lights danced wildly in all directions in time with the pounding music that sent pleasurable vibrations through his body. Numerous people danced together in the center of the room, and snippets of laughter and conversation floated towards them through the bass. Tables and chairs littered the areas around the dance floor, and a well-stocked, lit-up bar with a flashing neon sign was against the wall to their right. Some patrons were seated there, sipping at their alcoholic beverages and conversing with the bartenders.

"Man, this looks so awesome!" America raised his voice to be heard over the music. He glanced from side to side to gauge the other nations' reactions.

France was whispering in England's ear and gesturing towards the dance floor. England blushed and furrowed his thick brow before consenting and taking the Frenchman's hand. He was led down the stairs, and they disappeared into the depths of the crowd.

Germany patted Italy's head; he was looking rather sick and dizzy from the lights and noise. The tall blond man took him to a table to he could rest and become accustomed to the new and unfamiliar atmosphere.

Prussia winked at America in agreement and sidled up to the nearest group of girls. He leaned into their personal spaces, no doubt asking if they wanted to see his "five meters," making almost every single one of them break out into giggles and blushes.

Now alone, America shrugged and looked towards the bar. He refused to do anything without some alcohol in his system. He was stopped by Germany's call for beer, and he turned his head, calling back, "I'll get you some. Hang on a sec'!" He continued his trek to an empty bar stool He seated himself upon it and picked up a drink menu. America was assaulted with an assortment of German words and phrases, and he grunted in annoyance. He barely managed to gather together what little he knew of the German language and picked out what he recognized as "beer" in the mess scrawled in front of him. Thankfully, some of the bartenders spoke English, so he was saved the embarrassment of stuttering out in poor German what he wanted. He nodded his head towards Germany's table and order a round of beers for him and the Italian man that leaned heavily upon him.

For himself, he grudgingly decided upon vodka. When it arrived in front of him, he picked it up and sniffed. He had smelled that exact scent earlier, when Russia had caught him. Shaking such thoughts from his head, he downed the shot glass. He rested his arms heavily upon the surface of the bar and stared into his glass, nodding his head to a question of if he wanted another shot. He watched as it was refilled, feeling his stress start to ebb away. The music was infectious, America realized, and began swaying his head to the beat. Picking up the shot glass, he emptied it into his mouth and slammed it down upon the bar enthusiastically. A few drinks later, he swiveled around on his bar stool and observed the crowd, unable to spot England or France in the couples. Little did he know, the two of them were busy "negotiating" in the back alley.

He unsteadily climbed to his feet and took a few steps towards the dance floor. He wasn't sure who to dance with, but he knew he would find someone in there. Grinning in his intoxication, he edged his way through the dancing, writhing bodies. Spotting an attractive female nearby that was dancing on her own, he reached an arm out to tap her on the shoulder to get her attention. Before he could, a gloved hand shot out and guided his arm away from her. He suddenly felt a body behind him. He shivered at an unexpected chill that swept past him despite the heat from all the movement around him. The gloved hand dropped his arm and trailed up to his neck, wrapping loosely around it. A pair of soft, somewhat chapped lips pressed against the side of his exposed neck and planted a gentle kiss there.

America gasped at the stranger's audacity and swung his head around to see who was kissing his neck so he could demand an explanation. Dumbfounded, he saw that there was nobody behind him. He spun around and turned his head to see if he could spot anyone retreating that looked suspicious. To his absolute confusion, every person was wrapped up with dancing partners and groups.

He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling more than a little afraid at the possibility of an apparition. He bit at his lower lip and his blue eyes darted towards Germany and Italy. They were no longer at their table. He nearly jumped out of his skin when two hands landed on his hips and forced them to sway while their owner did the same with its own hips. The lips returned to his neck and brushed against his pale, sweaty skin.

Once again, America turned his head and found nobody behind him. The fear had overtaken him, and he rushed out of the crowd and back to the bar. He ordered another shot of vodka, hoping to ease his jumbled nerves. That chill he had felt earlier curled around him once again, and he felt eyes burning into the back of his head. Shooting to his feet, he frantically searched for his observer.

Beyond stressed with this situation, America decided it was time to leave. He couldn't handle whoever was teasing him... if anyone actually was. Ghosts scared him shitless, and he would not torture himself further by staying. He assumed that all of the other nations were either dancing and lost in the masses or busy with other matters, so he shrugged to himself and took his leave.

He was feeling a bit dizzy from the amount of alcohol he had consumed, and he stumbled over his feet while walking through the snow in the direction he knew his hotel room to be. Passing an alleyway, he was suddenly yanked in and pressed against the crumbling wall of an apartment building. He grunted in pain as his nose was almost smashed on the bricks. His arms were locked in a vice grip behind his back, and someone covered his body with their own. He immediately recognized the chapped lips as they returned to his neck, taking in the skin and sucking on it lightly.

He moaned out despite himself, arching his back.

A hand crept over his thigh and up his side, stroking gently. Teeth raked over the skin that was just sucked on, forcing a violent shudder from America, who was finding himself becoming aroused by this stranger's advances.

Another kiss landed upon his neck, and then there was nothing. America pushed off of the wall and frowned, his brow drawn up in worry. He wondered if he was being haunted by a sexual deviant of a ghost. The idea terrified him, and he took off through the snow, suddenly feeling not so inebriated anymore. He fully intended to crawl under his covers and not come out for the rest of the night.


	2. II: Russia Ponders

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter II: Russia Ponders**

_America returns home, Russia ponders over his feelings, and the next world conference is planned._

* * *

"Oh, God," America groaned, emerging from under his heavy wool blankets with a splitting headache and a rumbling stomach. Not only did he have a hangover from all of the vodka he had consumed last night, but he was also desperately needing something to eat. He had meant to buy something yesterday, but Germany had distracted him with the offer to drink away his stress at a popular club in Berlin.

He shot up, regretting his fast movements when pain exploded in his head. He held his forehead, rubbing at his temples with two fingers. His eyes widened, recalling the events from the night before. Someone had exploited his fear of ghosts while he was trying to enjoy himself at the club. He didn't meet a single female, and the entire situation had been soured and cut short. Once again, a flash of fear went through him, wondering if he had imagined the whole thing in a wild, drunken stupor or if someone had really been stalking him.

Shaking his head and cursing, America refused to allow the night before to ruin the new day for him. He no longer had to remain in Germany because the world conference was over for the rest of the month, and he could return to his comfortable home in Washington, D.C., far away from any sexual harassment from ghosts or otherwise. He eyed his scattered clothing and belongings around his hotel room. He would wait to pack until after he had eaten. It was a bit too much labor while he was suffering.

He had jumped into bed with all of his clothing on, so America decided that he would just wear the same clothing out for breakfast. He stopped at the sink to brush his teeth before leaving. He insured his keycard was on him before closing the door, intending to make himself at home at the buffet that would no doubt be waiting downstairs.

* * *

America stepped off of his personal plane and tugged his several suitcases with him. He took a deep breath of the American air and grinned. He was so happy to finally be home. Why can't they just have the conferences in his country? That would certainly be all right with him! A car was parked on the curb of the street a short distance away from his landing pad, and he loaded his luggage into it and got into the driver's seat. Buckling his seat belt, he drove to his exquisite house as fast as the speed limit would allow him.

When he arrived, he parked in the garage of his house and took his suitcases inside. He threw them aside, unwilling to take the time to unpack and tidy the contents just yet. Instead, he collapsed on the nearest couch and fell asleep instantly. He was exhausted after the long flight from Germany.

Blinking sleepily, America rose to his elbows. The room he had fallen asleep in was now bathed in darkness, alerting him to the amount of time he had napped. "Well, I guess I should unpack," he mumbled, feeling rather lazy. Reluctantly, he retrieved his bags and took them to his master bedroom. They were discarded on top of his bed while he fumbled for the light switch. He covered his eyes at the assault of light on his pupils, walking towards the bed.

He unzipped the first suitcase and sifted through it disinterestedly. It was all of his dirty laundry, so he dumped the entirety of its contents into a nearby laundry bin. Turning to the other suitcase, he unzipped it.

His eyes widened.

There was a decorative piece of stationary on top of everything that simply said, "_I will miss you, my sunflower,"_ in elegant script. It wasn't signed, and America could find no other markings on it.

He trembled in the new found knowledge that someone had broken into his hotel room while he was eating breakfast. But why? Who would do it? Why was he... someone's "sunflower"?

He dropped the note and took a few steps backwards, clutching at his chest. It had been no ghost. Somehow, he would have been more relieved if it had been. Who was so infatuated with him, that they would stalk him, and then sneak into his hotel room just to plant a message in his suitcase before he left? He knew he had been watched the entire time. How else would they have known?

He shook his head. He was a hero, and heroes don't get scared over a nonsensical admirer. He would push this event far from his mind and never give it another thought. He was home, so he might as well enjoy it before another idiotic, pointless conference was scheduled. He knew it would be far too soon before the next.

* * *

Lips curled into a mischievous smile. Violet eyes observed the countries that were squatted down in front of him, as if begging for forgiveness for merely existing. It amused him to see his underlings so full of terror. He wouldn't have been surprised if they had soiled themselves.

"W-w-w-welcome back, Mister Russia!" Lithuania greeted, his head bowed low. He knew he spoke for the others when he said that Russia was back much too soon.

"Privyet," Russia greeted, raising a hand. He was smiling widely from the events of tonight. Russia was practically oozing self-satisfaction, and it had Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia all cowering. Russia was so unpredictable; one moment, he could be teasing them about their height, and the next, he could be threatening to tear their limbs from their bodies. Anything that made such an unstable man so happy couldn't be anything to celebrate over.

He was feeling rather calm this evening, so he left his trembling countries to their own devices, heading straight for his bedroom and study. He idly straightened his scarf and dropped down into the chair in front of his desk. A bottle of his finest vodka was waiting on the surface, and Russia nodded in approval. He opened it and took a swig. His mind wandered to what he had just accomplished. Keeping the American from finding sexual exploits had proven to be successful. He had been able to kiss the delectable neck of that boisterous nation and keep him from finding others to spend the night with.

He curled his hand around the neck of his bottle with a near-crushing grip at the thought of America in bed with anyone. It frustrated him, and he knew that anything the American did while in his home country was completely out of his jurisdiction. He could only assure himself that his sunflower would do nothing of that sort.

He furrowed his brow. Why did he care so much about the American? Why did he have so much fun touching the shivering man that night? Where had these feelings come from? He was unable to answer any of the questions that swarmed his mind, and he felt a headache form.

He had felt flutterings in his chest whenever near the American or thinking about being near him. It confused him, for he had never felt these sensations before. Was it a good feeling? Russia couldn't decide. Sometimes his chest tightened when thinking about American, like him being in bed with someone else. But other times, he was feeling light-headed and giddy, like when he came up with his plan to scare America into leaving that site of debauchery and sin.

He also found that he was unable to take his eyes off of the man whenever they were near each other. He didn't want to miss a single thing. He was fascinated with his energy and passion, wishing desperately that he could claim the other superpower as his own. That bright blond hair, those sparkling blue eyes, that lively grin. America was his complete opposite, yet he found he couldn't help but be drawn into him with the promise that if he did manage to make America his, he would not have to endure the loneliness that consumed him on a daily basis. After all, a man with that much energy couldn't possibly resist using it for someone he cared about. He tapped a finger against his lips.

His mind wandered once again. He wondered if America had found the note he left in his suitcase yet. He giggled to himself imagining the face he would make. Would he shudder in fear and remember what he had done to him? Russia licked his lips and took another swig from his bottle. He closed his eyes to further visualize it. He hoped it had been a memorable experience, for he knew that he would enjoy the thought for a long while.

_Amerika... you frustrate me, and yet... I cannot take my mind away from you. What have you done to me?_

* * *

A month passed, and the entire incident, along with everything else that had occurred in Germany, had left America's mind completely. Before he knew it, he was being called on his cellphone. Hearing the shrill ringing of his phone, America dropped the clothing he was folding and hurried to answer it. Holding it to his ear, he greeted cheerfully, "Yo, this is America!"

"America, I am ecstatic that you decided to answer today," the person on the other line greeted in return, his voice dripping with sarcasm and a distinctively British accent.

"Today? What, you've called and I haven't answered before?" America squashed the phone awkwardly between his shoulder and ear so he could use his hands to continue folding.

"Naturally," England told him, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I called to inform you that the next world conference will be taking place in Moscow in a couple of days. I urge you to start packing now and begin your flight in a matter of hours. You do not want to be late."

America scowled, both at England's nagging and the idea of spending his time in Russia. "All right, all right," he told the other nation. "I'll be there soon. Hotel's already booked and everything, right?"

"Yes, of course. When you arrive, there will be someone to escort you to where you will stay. It has already been taken care of."

"Great to hear, dude," America replied mechanically, neatly stacking his folded laundry. "Anything else?"

"No, that is all. Start packing as soon as we hang up! Do not be late!" England chided.

"Yeah, yeah," America grumbled and hung up the phone without another word, knowing he would be scolded heavily for not properly giving his farewells later. He fumed silently, retrieving the suitcases he had put away in his closet only a month previously. Opening them, he began packing. "I will need a few coats," he reminded himself, thinking about the freezing weather he would have to endure while in Russia's country. He sighed. Within a few hours, he was packed and on a plane heading towards the very country he dreaded being in. _Why, oh, why couldn't it be in my country?_ he wondered.

He gripped the heavy overcoats that were at his side and knew he'd be very friendly with them in a few more hours.


	3. III: A Quiet Evening

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter III: A Quiet Evening**

_The world conference commences in Moscow, and Russia invites America over to his house for the evening._

* * *

"Quiet, _quiet!_ Be quiet, I say!" Germany barked over the commotion that accompanied the gathering of so many different nations in the conference room that didn't seem quite big enough for the sheer amount. He growled lowly as nobody paid him mind. He fumed, clenching his fists. His blue eyes darted back and forth between the noisiest of the bunch; a few countries had more important things to argue pointlessly about, rather than listen to his presentation, it seemed. He placed a few fingers between his lips and whistled so loudly that his empty water glass on the podium next to him promptly shattered.

Almost everyone yelped and covered their ears protectively with their hands, fearing Germany would do it again.

"Now zhat I have your attention..." Germany trailed off icily, "...it's time for me to begin today's presentation. Ve vill be covering some of zhe major Asian issues at zhis time, und I vill ask zhat a few of zhe natives join in, if zhey don't mind." With that, he turned his back on the irritated faces of the nations. He yanked out a large stick used for pointing and slammed it against the blackboard, making a few people jump or fall out of their seats. Germany was clearly on edge.

America remained nonchalant throughout the exchange. He was too busy locking eyes with Russia, arching an eyebrow at him. He had chosen to sit across from the intimidating nation once again, but this time it was consciously. He whispered, "Are ya gonna stare at me for the whole meeting again?"

"Only if you allow," Russia murmured back, his amusement colliding with America's challenging. He arched his own eyebrows, curling a hand under his chin to support his head.

There were no nations around them this time, for they were wise and knew not to be around the two nations, especially when they were whispering at each other despite Germany's screams for attentiveness and silence.

America rolled his eyes and resolved to give Russia some of what he was dishing out to him. He mimicked Russia's stance, cupping his chin in on hand and his eyes roaming over the large man. He took in the silvery hair, idly wondering if it was as soft as it looked. Those violet eyes were so intense and unreadable; they drew him right in when he locked eyes again. He forced his gaze away so he could trail down over the smiling lips and finally the thick scarf that covered the majority of Russia's neck. He suddenly wondered what Russia would do if he took that scarf away from him. After all, he was never seen without it. Would he cry? This brought a smirk to his lips.

America tapped his cheek and winked at said man, confusing him.

Growing disinterested with his survey of Russia, he turned his attention to Germany's monotone. After mere moments of struggling to give a damn, his eyes felt heavy. Germany had the uncanny ability to put him to sleep with his presentations. _Nap time_, he decided, laying his head down on the table.

Russia watched as America attempted to sleep his way through the rest of the meeting. His eyes darted up to the raging Germany, who broke the pointer stick in half over his knee and stalked around the table to where his blond interest was resting. He hid an amused grin behind one hand.

Germany was cruel in the way he brought half of the stick down beside America's head. His reaction was instantaneous; America leaped into the air, knocking over his chair and tripping over it. He fell bodily to the ground and groaned, rubbing his a spot on his leg that had collided with the metal of his chair. "What the fuck, Germany?" America groaned from his position upon the ground.

Several countries snickered at the display.

"You vill not sleep vhile I am speaking," Germany hissed. He reclaimed his spot in the front of the room, cleaning his face of all emotion and drawling on about Asia, uncaring if America righted himself or not.

The American grumbled and refused to stand up and retake his seat. He lacked the motivation to do so. However, Russia's face mere inches from his own startled him into movement. He gasped, noticing the tall nation had crawled under the table to reach him.

He beamed, obviously amused. "Do you need help, Amerika?"

"No, I got it..." America dragged himself to his feet and returned his chair to its normal position, falling heavily into it. He watched as a head of silvery hair popped up from under the table as the owner seated himself again. Those insufferable, beautiful violet irises met his once again. And so, the staring continued.

Several hours later, the meeting was concluded, and everyone was free to leave.

"What did I just hear?" America bounded up behind the normal group of countries that met at the local bar after meetings. He placed his hands on England's shoulders and jumped on him excitedly, wrapping his legs around his waist. "Oh, thank God, I could use a drink after what I've had to sit through! I'm in!"

Germany grumbled but was interrupted when Italy began dragging him towards the door eagerly. "Ve! Germany, let's-a go now!" The pair disappeared out the door along with scattered nations that had finished packing their documents and were retreating to their hotel rooms or the local sites.

England shot a wicked smile at the cheerful blond and held up a hand. "Only on one condition: you must assist me in cleaning the rubbish everyone left behind."

Groaning and suddenly feeling lazy, America protested. One withering look from his former guardian had him thinking differently, and he dropped from England's back and began cleaning the deserted conference room. It wasn't a whole lot of work, and he knew that helping England would speed up the process. The faster these damned papers were thrown away, the faster they could go get drunk and start enjoying the evening.

He crouched on the ground, peering under the table for any stray pieces of paper. Turning his head, he spotted one inches away from him, and he reached out for it. A heavy boot landing on the paper hindered his progress, and he stared at it in bewilderment. His eyes darted up the high military boot to a long beige coat all the way up to a lavender scarf. He didn't have to continue to realize who was standing on the paper. He averted his eyes and tugged at the paper, grunting in annoyance. "Do ya mind? I need this..."

"Amerika."

America shuddered, sitting back on his heels. He released the captured piece of paper and looked up at the towering nation. The vivid purple met his blue. "Yeah, Russia, what is it?"

"Will you join me at my house this evening?"

His expression was so nonchalant and calm despite the terrifying request he had just uttered to the blond. America quivered in fear at the thought of being alone with the man in his home. Instead of offering a response, he turned his head to search for his companion. He was disappointed to find that England had escaped the room as soon as he had finished cleaning his side of the room. He cursed under his breath, wondering if he hurried he could catch up to the damn Brit.

"Uhm, I have plans tonight."

The pleasant expression on the silvery-haired superpower hardened the tiniest bit. It was clear in his face that he would not allow America to deny him. "I would appreciate if you would reconsider."

Acting on impulse, America's arm shot out and gripped the paper under the unrelenting boot. He ripped it in half, deciding to just leave the ruined half, and darted away, tossing the papers in a garbage can at the doorway. "Sorry, dude, not tonight!" he called over his shoulder, fleeing before Russia could react.

* * *

America collapsed on the bar stool next to England and France, panting. "Damn, you guys could have waited for me!"

"Oh, I apologize," England gave a decidedly evil smirk to his ex-colony and fingered the glass in front of him on the bar's surface. "You seemed busy with Russia, and I knew you would catch up."

"Busy? With Russia?" France inquired, quirking a slender blond eyebrow. He turned towards his bar companions and motioned for them to explain.

"Erm, it's nothing, really..." America trailed off, signalling the bartender to take his drink order.

"Did he, ah, want _anyzhing?_" France lewdly waggled his eyebrows at the younger man. Drunk or not, he wasn't going to pass up a juicy story.

"What the fuck?" America sputtered. "No! Nothing like what you're thinking, Frenchie!"

"You seem particularly defensive about it," England observed. He tapped a finger against his chin. "I've heard from some of the other countries that you two have been... staring at each other often as of late."

"What's zhe problem? Is Germany becoming much too dull for you to pay attention? Finding somezhing to break up zhe monotony?"

Blushing angrily, America shook his head wildly as the other two men laughed at him. "Dude, I'm so not drunk enough for this!" His drink arrived in a cold bottle, and he brought it to his lips. Tipping his head back, he downed half of it gratefully. "Fuckin' perverts..." Today was not turning out very well for him. It seemed like everyone was out to get the hero, once again.

"Excuse me, I'm not the pervert," England sniffed snobbishly, sipping at his beverage. "I am merely curious about why you and Russia are suddenly on speaking terms."

"If somezhing _does_ happen, do not keep zhe details to yourself!" France advised with a sly grin.

A disgusted look shot across the British man's face, and all traces of his laughter completely dissipated "Ugh, come now. We all know that nothing will come of this. We speak in jest, that is all."

Sighing deeply, America squeezed the neck of his bottle. _Sighing again_, he thought. _I can't seem to stop._

Spending a few moments in silence while they drank their respective alcohol, America was surprised when something spun his bar stool completely around. His eyes widened at the narrowed violet ones burning into him. A frown graced the Russian man's features, and he pinned America against the bar with one hand so he couldn't run away again. He smacked the lead pipe he held in his other hand solidly against his own thigh threateningly.

"Oh, _shit!_" America yelped, flailing his arms dramatically and attracting the attention of nearby patrons while France and England gawked at the sight. He struggled against the gloved hand pressed so firmly against his collarbone but to no avail. The angry man was as solid as a statue.

"Amerika, you wound me," Russia spoke calmly and patiently. "I do not appreciate when you reject me."

"Come on, man, I told you I was busy tonight! Why don't you just take a seat and drink here?" The young blond man patted the bar stool next to him shakily.

"If I wanted to drink, I would drink my vodka," Russia retorted. He relaxed his grip slightly and leaned forward. "Come, let us go, da?"

America dreaded looking over at the faces of his companions, but he did, shooting them a look that begged for help. He knew it looked bad, with Russia threatening him and clutching that damn pipe of his, but they could all stand up to him, right? His hopes deflated when England coughed awkwardly and scooted down to the other end of the bar so as to not become mixed up in the impending violence. France had the audacity to wink and mouth, '_Protection_,' at him before rejoining Britain.

His eyes were dragged back to focus on Russia's when the gloved hand that had been keeping him pinned to the bar gripped his chin and turned it. The man's expression was childishly cheerful with the disappearance of the other nations. He smiled widely and offered his hand to help America to his feet. "We shall go now." His tone left no room for argument.

All help had effectively been scared off, and America found himself alone. He forced a crooked smile in return and allowed Russia to pull him to his feet. Inside, he was raging and cursing at his misfortune. Why him? What did Russia want with _him?_

Together, they departed the bar and into the blinding snow. Climbing into Russia's vehicle that was parked just outside, America stared longingly at the building he had just left. He didn't even get to finish his beer... but at least it was on England's tab, the bastard.

Russia reached over and patted his prize on the knee fondly.

* * *

The drive to Russia's home was silent and unpleasant, at least for America. He had his arms wrapped around himself, shivering at the chilly air and staring out the passenger window. The bare trees covered in piles of fresh snow flashed by in a dark blur. He pondered the pros and cons of diving out the window and trying to run back to the city. They had been driving for about half an hour now, so his chances of making it before Russia plucked him off the road were very slim. Plus, invoking the imposing nation's wrath was not on his list of things to do today. He would endure the visit, and before long, he could make an excuse and take his leave. He nodded his head. Fool-proof. Russia couldn't keep him here forever; there was another meeting in the morning, and the others would wonder where they were.

He chanced a glance at Russia when a small giggle bubbled up from his throat. He wasn't sure what Russia was so happy about, but the random giggling was beginning to seriously freak him out. Ever since they had drove away from the others, the silvery-haired man had been humming and smiling a lot.

Russia delivered another pat to America's knee. "Not much longer now."

_For what?_ America wondered with a gulp, endless possibilities running through his mind. All efforts to comfort himself flew out the window, leaving him feeling hopelessly empty. A lump of fear was lodged in his throat, and he knew that his trembling wasn't only from the cold. He winced as Russia slammed on the brakes at an intersection, then with the same force, hitting the gas pedal and speeding off when no cars crossed in front of him. The swerving and jolting weren't helping America feel any better about his situation.

"Ah, there!" Russia exclaimed, taking a hand off the steering wheel to point at his home in the distance. America was much too distracted by the fact that Russia was driving with only one hand to notice. They darted onto a side road, which he assumed was a driveway of sorts that would take them to Russia's house. His eyes widened. House was an understatement; Russia lived in something more like a small castle. The dark stone appeared impossibly large the closer they came to it, and it had to stretch upwards at least five stories. Dread pooled inside of him.

Parking in front of his house, Russia smiled brightly and gestured for America to exit the vehicle. Legs shaking and feeling more than a little nauseous from the trip, America clamored out. They met at the entryway, and the tall nation ushered him through the door with a hand on the small of his back.

Russia was pleased to see that the house was empty, having demanded before the meeting that his three underlings leave the house for the evening until at least midnight.

"So, uh, what's on the agenda?" America questioned, struggling to appear cool and nonchalant on the outside. Inwardly, he was cringing, especially when he saw Russia lay his favorite lead pipe on an end table. Though, it wasn't totally unbearable inside from what he could see. It was sparsely furnished with some tables, sofas, and chairs, and it was warm enough. The lighting was too dim for his taste, he decided as he squinted to survey the foyer. He felt hands remove his outer coat with surprise.

"I think dinner, da?" Russia whispered as he carried the other man's coat to a rack near the door they had entered through. "I will prepare something nice."

His stomach growled appropriately at the suggestion, and America nodded eagerly, relaxing his nerves for a moment. Dinner sounded harmless enough, and he was so hungry that he doubted he could turn away any Russian cuisine, even if it were prepared by his once mortal enemy. He trailed after the large Russian, rubbing his arms in an effort to warm them.

For the next ten minutes, America was seated at the small table near the kitchen watching Russia bustle around. He propped up his chin with his fist, sniffling lightly at the air. "Hey, that smells pretty good," he remarked. He felt the need to say more, and so he continued, "This is a nice place you have here." He wasn't lying to the other man; he found the castle to be rather impressive, even if it wasn't what he would choose to reside in.

"Spasiba," Russia chirped over his shoulder, beaming and pleased with the compliments.

America delicately sipped at the glass of vodka he had been given, tentative. The thought that it was spiked with a drug or poison crossed his mind, but he waved it away and enjoyed the burn of alcohol travelling down his throat.

It wasn't long before Russia gently set down an intricate dish of hot soup in front of him. He did the same for the other side of the table where he would sit. Glasses were refilled with vodka, and a basket of rye bread was set in the middle of the table for them to both be able to reach.

America nodded his thanks and picked up the spoon near his meal. Soup wasn't normally his first choice for food, naturally preferring hamburgers or cooked meat of some type. He eyed the variant of ingredients within, noting the amount of vegetables. Definitely not his first choice.

"Shchi," Russia spoke after taking a sip of his own spoon. "Try."

His hand quivered noticeably to the Russian as he poised his spoon over the dish. America was becoming more and more unsure as the seconds ticked on. He had never had this soup before, and he had no idea what to think of its ingredients.

He had hesitated much too long, apparently, because a gloved hand covered his own and guided it, dipping the spoon into the liquid. A healthy amount of cabbage and other vegetables was presented to him. His glasses slipped to the bridge of his nose, and he peered up at Russia's expectant face.

"Eat," the silvery-haired man urged, retracting his hand reluctantly from America's. "It is good."

Taking a deep breath, America brought the spoon to his lips and closed his mouth around it. It was rather sour, he noted, blinking at the taste. Swallowing the contents of the spoon, he met Russia's eyes. He smiled, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "It's great!" he enthused. Without hesitation, he ate another spoonful, much to Russia's delight.

They split a few pieces of bread and finished their glasses of vodka. The soup disappeared quickly, and Russia gathered up their dishes, taking them to the sink to wash.

Embarrassed, America shot out of his chair and approached the other nation. "Hey, you don't have to wash my dishes, man. I can do it." He felt unbelievably lazy allowing his host to clean up after him.

Turning his head to smile at his guest, Russia shook his head. "I will wash." While America stood awkwardly a few feet away, the dishes were washed, dried, and placed in their proper places in the cabinets.

Exhaling, America's nerves became jumbled again. Now that dinner was over, what would they do? Maybe now was his chance to make an excuse and run. The meal had been exceptional, but maybe he was being buttered up for something a lot more sinister later on. His ever-creative mind supplied the mental images for him. Shivering, he took a few steps towards the hallway that would take him back to the door.

A hand on his shoulder halted his progress, and he was forcibly turned around so he could face its owner.

"I hope you are ready for dessert!"

America quirked an eyebrow. "Dessert? Whatcha got?" Sweets always interested him, so he figured he stick around a little bit longer to sample his Russian treats. He was seated at the table once again, tapping his finger on the surface nervously to an unheard beat. He crossed and uncrossed his legs underneath, restless, while Russia took the time to prepare his next dish.

He had plenty of time to get lost in his thoughts while he waited, for Russia was making something from scratch. He had no idea that the other nation was a chef, so he was surprised that he was being treated to home-cooked meals. Normally, if he were home in the United States, he would just grab fast food and eat that. Home-cooked meals were reserved for when he visited Canada and England.

He licked at his lips, feeling thirsty. He stood from his chair and tapped his host on the shoulder. "You got any water?" He wanted a soda, but he knew it was very unlikely that the Russian man kept any in his home. Vodka was his drink of choice.

"Da." Russia wiped his hands on a dish towel and reached towards a cabinet overhead, retrieving a glass. He filled it with water from the sink and handed it to America. It was freezing cold, so he had no need for ice cubes. He thanked Russia and returned to the table with his drink.

When Russia had placed his creation in the oven, he glanced at a clock to note the time. To pass the minutes, he seated himself at the table with America. He studied him, noticing the light blush that adorned his cheeks.

The younger country hadn't meant to brush his foot against Russia's, but during his fidgeting, he accidentally made contact and reeled back. He distracted himself from his flustered state by drinking deeply from his glass of water. He nearly spat it all out when the tip of a boot stroked his shin.

Russia's playful smile was his response.

The entire time they waited, Russia couldn't take his eyes off his guest, and it was beginning to bother America, who was unable to say anything. If he wanted to get out of this alive, he had to at least pretend to be pleasant until he was safely out the doors and halfway back to the city.

Russia glanced at the clock and realized it was time to take his dish out of the oven. He busied himself with placing the food on plates. Once he was ready, he set a few of the buns in front of America, then reclaimed his seat. "Pirozhki," he explained, as if a single word of Russian would provide the native English-speaker with all the details he needed.

Glancing down, America had to smash his lips together to suppress a rude groan. More cabbage...

A laugh erupted from Russia's side of the table. The sheepish tall man explained as if he knew what America was thinking between chuckles, "I buy too much."

America cracked a weak smile and ate his questionable dessert.

* * *

"I think now we can start having fun," Russia informed him when the dishes were once again washed and put away. He wiped his hands on the dish towel and toyed with his scarf. He steadily stared at his guest.

America arched an eyebrow and searched the other man's face for evil intent. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Perhaps you can learn my home, but with a game." Russia giggled, dropping his hands at his sides. He took a few steps towards the younger man, looking down at him thoughtfully. "I will give you, ah... head start."

"Head start?" Horrified, America's hand shot to his mouth. "W-why would I need a head start?"

Russia made a noise of satisfaction. "I will get to that. First, rules. If I catch you, you will have to visit my home again tomorrow. If I cannot catch you by midnight, you will not. This is fair, da?"

A shudder overtook him. Catch... him? Was it a sick game of tag? Or possibly hide-and-seek-and-tag? He knew he couldn't lose this game, or he would never rid himself of the pesky Ruski. Besides, those hypnotizing orbs gazed into his own, almost pleading for him to consent. He clenched his fists and nodded weakly. "Yes, it's fair."

"I will count to sixty seconds, and you will run and hide," Russia explained. He motioned for America to remain in the kitchen momentarily. When he returned a few minutes later, he continued, "I have removed all light, and is becoming dark. Makes for fun game, da?" He laughed happily at the thought of pursuing the nation in the shadows. "I will start now."

When Russia's back was turned and he began counting, America backed up a few steps to make sure he wouldn't cheat. When he was sure that the Russian wouldn't peek or start running after him early, he fled out the hallway to the end. He passed the foyer and continued to the other unexplored side. His heart began to pound in anxiousness. He had no clue where he was headed or if he'd even be able to find a suitable hiding spot. Russia definitely had the upper hand in this game; he knew every nook in his home, while America was awkwardly and painfully running into furniture and doorways. He grunted in surprise when he stumbled forward onto a set of stairs in his haste to get as far away from the tall man. He got on his hands and knees and crawled up the staircase to a landing. He wound around and ascended another set to the third floor.

He peeked into rooms behind closed doors, searching desperately for a good spot. He neared the end of the hallway and was almost to another set of stairs that would take him even higher when he opened a door and found what appeared to be Russia's personal bedroom, if the flag and piles of paperwork in an adjacent study were any indication. Knowing it was a bad idea, he began backing out of the room as quietly and carefully as possible, as if Russia could sense his presence in his personal space.

"Amerika, I am coming for you!" a cheerful voice rang out slightly muffled several floors below him.

America gasped in fright and darted into Russia's bedroom. He closed the door and swiveled his head back and forth, frantically trying to decide whether he should hide under the bed or in the wardrobe... or perhaps in the shower of the attached bathroom? Brimming with indecision, America dropped to his hands and knees and forced himself under the bed, insuring that no limbs or clothing were sticking out from the shadows. He panted heavily, his breaths coming in short, harsh gasps. He closed his eyes and gripped his chest, willing his thundering beats from his heart to calm. He knew it was silly, but he felt like Russia could hear his beating heart even down on the first floor.

His ears perked up for any sounds of movement, but he was unable to detect any. The wind whipped the shutters of the windows and smacked them against the walls, which made America jump in his hiding spot. He wiped at a bead of sweat that tickled its way down the side of his face. He was uncomfortably warm in the tight space in his bomber jacket and uniform. He wished he had left the jacket at the foyer, but he had been rather chilled before the adrenaline had kicked in.

He must have laid there for what seemed like hours, and his eyes were getting heavy. He struggled to keep his eyelids open and his eyes alert, but it was difficult with the sound of snow gently sprinkling the glass of the windows. He was warm, tired, full of food, and slightly inebriated. It was a perfect combination for falling asleep. America lost control of himself, and his eyelids drifted closed. His mouth parted, and his breath slowed. He had fallen into a light doze when suddenly the door to the room he was in swung open and banged deafeningly against the wall beside it. Several picture frames rattled from the impact.

America stifled a yelp of shock and held his breath as heavy, booted feet stepped into the room. He could imagine Russia's smile growing when he detected America's noisily beating heart and possibly even smelled the blood flowing through his veins and arteries. It was like he feared, he realized with absolute dread. The footsteps neared his hiding spot, and he squeezed his eyes shut. _No, not here! I'm not here,_ he pleaded to no one. He waited to be discovered, but Russia turned away from the bed and walked into his study.

America jumped into action before realized what he was doing. Knowing Russia was preoccupied searching another room, he backed himself out from under the bed, his lungs greedily taking the cool air he gulped in. He was uncomfortably warm from spending so long squashed between the floor and the bottom of Russia's bed. Without looking to see if the intimidating nation had noticed him, he fled out of the room and back down the hallway to the stairs that would take him down to the second floor. He opened a random door once he had left the stairs and dove inside, closing it with an audible click behind him.

He rubbed at his tired eyes, nearly dislodging his glasses. _I'm in an empty room!_ he screamed internally. There were a few boxes scattered throughout the room, indicating that someone had moved out of it, but there was no place to hide. It was merely four walls, a roof, and a floor. _Shit, shit, shit,_ he repeated, listening for Russia. There were no sounds, and he knew he had to find a better place to hide. He placed his hand on the doorknob and prepared to turn it. Before he could, though, his ears picked up on Russia's voice ringing out from somewhere nearby.

"Oh, little Amerika, where are you? I must find you before midnight!"

America promptly backed away from the door. Was he coming this way? Or was he going back down to the first floor? He couldn't tell, and he was afraid that any second Russia would open the door and discover him. He needed a weapon to defend himself and give himself more time, he decided. Quickly, he peered into the nearest cardboard box, hoping with all his might that something solid and blunt was inside. It was empty.

He dashed over to another pile of boxes and searched all of them. Nothing was in all of them. Maybe he could use the box? Shove it over Russia's head to confuse him while he ran away? He shook his head of these ridiculous thoughts... for the moment. There were still a few more boxes resting against the far wall that he could look through. To his absolute astonishment and delight, he found a few metal beams inside one. Perhaps from recent—or not—construction. Grasping one to his chest lovingly, he took his place against the wall beside the door so that if it opened, he wouldn't be caught immediately.

It didn't take long for Russia to pass by the door and pause in front of it. He tapped his chin and pushed open the door. He took a few steps into the room, turning his head to sweep his gaze over the contents. A sudden sharp pain against the back of his shoulders had him falling forward onto the ground, hearing retreating footsteps. His reaction wasn't one of pain; he was surprised that his guest had decided to bring weapons into the game. Jumping to his feet, he spun around and pursued with a satisfied grin.

* * *

Clutching his metal beam in his hands, America flattened himself behind a sofa in the foyer, ultimately deciding that if things turned ugly because Russia was pissed off and murderous from getting hit, he wanted to be as close to the exit as possible. He refused to die here. He panted lightly from the running his body was unaccustomed to, pushing his glasses back up his nose habitually. He slid down the back of the sofa and rested on the ground to regain his composure. He marveled at how... _excited_ this game was making him. Normally, the thought of running away from anything or anyone would disgust him, but with the stakes leaning towards him playing keep-away, he was determined not to be caught.

Unable to hear Russia and know where he was lurking forced an anxious shiver through his body. Being pursued by such a dangerous and potentially homicidal superpower was a bit of a thrill. Plus, it was almost completely dark and absolutely silent in the house. He hardly knew his way around, and yet he had avoided the man twice now. He couldn't help but pump a fist in the air in victory. He was freaking awesome! _Take that, Russia!_

Two beige-covered arms suddenly burst through the wood paneling of the foyer floor and grabbed his ankles. Russia pulled himself up through the opening he had created and tackled the screaming American to the ground, avoiding the swing of his weapon. His grin was wide and almost maniacal. His violet eyes reflected just how much he was enjoying himself with the chase. He smacked the metal beam from America's flimsy grip, and it rolled away out of reach. Russia seated himself on top of America's abdomen and pinned his wrists above his head with one hand. Leaning forward, in a mere whisper, he informed the American gleefully, "Got you."


	4. IV: Conflicts

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter IV: Conflicts**

_America returns to Russia's house for the night, and they are rudely and terrifyingly interrupted._

* * *

"You knew where I was the entire time, damn it!" America accused, bucking sharply to dislodge the creepy man on top of him. His initial fear and shock at Russia's unconventional appearance had worn off and become steaming anger. "What was the point of all of that? You knew where I was hiding every time, and you were toying with me, dude!"

Russia giggled, nudging the tip of his nose against America's. He was leaning impossibly close, and it was making America extremely uncomfortable. He didn't deny the accusation because his glittering eyes were proof enough as to how truthful it was. "Chasing you was much fun! You are sneaky, little Amerika."

America laughed nervously, and he would have rubbed the back of his neck if his arms weren't restrained above his head. "Look, I'm sorry for hitting you with that beam. I just got way too into it, you know?"

"Da, I know." Russia waved it off. His eyes shone with a child-like sense of mischief. "So did I. Hunting you was very exciting."

"Glad you think so." America snorted, shaking his bangs out of his face and not sounding the least bit glad about the turnout. "Well, uh..." he trailed off as he finally noticed their suggestive position and the fact that Russia was crushing his internal organs. "...Can I stand up now?"

Russia smiled widely, leaning back. He released the other man's wrists after a few seconds of thought. "Will you run from me?"

"N-no, I'm done runnin'."

He sat back on his heels allowing America to right himself. They sat on the ground opposite each other, regarding one another for several moments.

"I, uh, found that game pretty exciting, myself," America finally admitted with a slight blush. "Thanks for suggestin' it."

"Pozhaluysta," Russia replied. He tightened his scarf around his neck and peered up at America through the darkness almost shyly.

"I guess it's getting kind of late now..." he pointed out, the moonlight from the window behind him illuminating his features as he twisted his head around to judge the time by the moon's position. "I think I need to head back to my hotel now."

Russia nodded faintly. A smirk curled his lips. "Do not forget, you lost our game. You will visit again tomorrow and stay for nighttime."

Smiling in false cheerfulness, America returned his nod. "Yeah, dude." _Oh, my God._

* * *

It was nearly an hour after Russia had dropped him off at his hotel before America could finally collapse in utter exhaustion on top of his blankets. He hadn't bothered to make his bed that morning, so he wasn't taking the effort to undress properly or even lay the correct way. He snorted at his lazy thoughts and brushed it off. He snuggled into the soft bedding.

He had enjoyed the game, it was undeniable. But that was only because it was a friendly competition, right? Russia had nothing to do with it on a personal level. It was just fun competing with someone who could crush his skull in one punch. Nothing to do... with Russia...

Before long, light snores drifted out of the weary American man that dangled half off his bed, and he fell into a deep sleep.

Russia, seated in his windowsill, observed him silently. The man hadn't even noticed him when he dragged himself into the room, and that amused him greatly. He had thought he was going to need to explain why he had a key to his hotel room and why he was even there. Why _was_ he there? Russia hummed to himself.

It was impulse that had him go up to the counter and describe with sweet Russian words that he was a friend of America's and needed a key to his room to surprise him with his visit. When he had the key, he traced it with his eyes for a few seconds, the beginning creeping of doubt entering into his mind. Nonetheless, his feet had carried him to America's floor and stopped ominously in front of the correct door. He had debated knocking first, but he inwardly laughed at himself. If he had resorted to sneaky methods to get a key, why would he bother to spoil the fun by announcing himself? The key was inserted into the lock and turned. His hand clutched the doorknob and slowly began to rotate it, his heart fluttering almost painfully.

The door was pushed inwards, and the Russian man took a few steps in, a cheerful greeting on the tip of his tongue. "Priv—" His half-formed word didn't reach anyone's ears... because nobody was inside. He swung his head from side to side, bewildered. Was his sunflower hiding from him? Was this even the correct room? Frustration swept through him. Russia didn't make these kinds of silly mistakes. If he had his lead pipe with him, he would severely beat the man at the desk with it.

Grunting in distaste, Russia prepared to back out of the room. A door swinging open caught his eye; he hadn't noticed that there was an attached bathroom inside the room. America emerged from it with his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open in an obnoxious yawn. He watched as the man dragged himself to the bed and literally collapsed. The American hadn't even the slightest effort to get under the blankets or even take his boots and coat off. He suddenly felt a little disappointed. He hadn't even been noticed despite taking up most of the door.

He entered the room and closed the door quietly behind him. He then took up his post in the windowsill. He was more than happy to spend his time in the presence of the normally lively country, and not watch as his underlings wet themselves when he smiled at them. When his thoughts had turned to them, his mood soured considerably. America going into Lithuania's empty room during their game had reminded him about the country's impending independence from him. Lithuania was leaving him once again, and he knew it wouldn't be long before Estonia and Latvia joined him. After all, that was the only reason Lithuania bothered to visit him anymore; he was struggling to get the paperwork finalized for the Baltic states to be able to run far, far away.

He bit at his lip and turned his head to stare at the moon. It wouldn't be long before his house was empty and silent, only occupied while he was there. He dreaded coming home and not being greeted with the familiar auras of terrorized, smaller countries. It was only a matter of days. Their rooms were empty, having packed all of their belongings and moved them to an outside, unfamiliar location. Often times, he would enter their rooms and visualize how they had used to look when full of furniture and tapestries. However, it only served to upset him further, and he would run back to his room with his face buried in his hands. Never did he shed a tear, though. His face would fall, his eyes would swim with morose, and his heart would drop out of his chest, no doubt close to bursting into a million pieces from his years of heartbreak.

Feeling more than a little depressed, Russia knew not to let his thoughts stray to his precious sisters. He feared his heart would fall out and be nothing more. The Soviet Union was no more, and he was just Russia—alone and cold. He could see it in Lithuania's face when he bestowed his affectionate pats on his head before retiring for the night; he was more than ready to leave Russia and never look back. The other Baltic states no doubt felt the same way, for they avoided him as much as possible. Lithuania was always his favorite, he mused. He was always eager to please despite his own personal fright towards the tallest nation. But, he shook his head, he would not dwell over it more tonight.

America was mere feet away from him, snoring quietly. The sight of him succumbed to sleep made a sad smile come to Russia's face. He longed to reach out and push those unruly blond bangs out of his face. He wanted to stroke his cheek and whisper sweet Russian words into his ear. He wanted to pat him on the head and tell him to become one with him.

Russia knew from his years with the Baltics that it would only bring negative consequences. He was subdued, worn out, and more than ready to rip his heart out of his chest and crush it himself. This human side of him that allowed him to feel was taking over, and it was bringing misery to the cold nation. He didn't want to be consumed with emotion. It was one of his weaknesses; he could be driven and controlled by emotion. Sometimes he wasn't even sure what he did just to prolong the delicious feelings, but the way his Baltics could hardly stand on their own feet when he was near them told him that it was questionable in nature. He had taken what he wanted without worrying how it would affect others.

The early morning light crept through the window and its bright, warming rays fanned over his hunched form. Russia shivered with the chill it brought.

* * *

When America awoke that morning, he didn't even think about the fact that his shoes and coat had been removed and a blanket was covering him. He shrugged, figuring that he had done it in his half-asleep state. With a spring in his step from the great dream he had—being a hero and saving everyone—he prepared for the day.

Arriving at the conference room, he opened the door and yelped. He ducked to avoid a chair that had been hurled over him and out into the hallway. Bewildered, he peered into the room to find that a fight had broken out. His mouth dropped open. Deciding that it would be easier to crawl to avoid bodily harm, he did so, hoping nobody would step on him or trip over him. He made his way towards the front of the room where England and Germany were standing and screaming at the top of their lungs. He jumped to his feet and grabbed his ex-guardian by the shoulders, shaking him. "What the hell happened here?! Famine, plague, World War III?!"

"So good of you to join us, America," England raised his voice to be heard over the roar of arguing nations and shattering glass and ignored the hysterical tinge to his ex-colony's voice. "As you can see, the day's festivities have begun early." A roll of his eyes told him that it wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"Uh, can I ask what happened, dude?" He released England and his eyes darted over the table. He was shocked to see Russia sitting near the back with his face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking violently. Now he was even more confused.

"Today's topic most certainly was not the collapse of the Soviet Union, but somehow it became that," England replied dryly.

That was news. America stared at him wide-eyed. "The Soviet Union is no more?"

"Yes, indeed. Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia, among others, had applied for independence about a year ago, and the paperwork was finalized today. They are now free countries and are permitted to join us at the next world conference. However, as you can see, everyone has mixed feelings. Some are celebrating the collapse, some are believing it is a scheme for world domination, and some are just arguing to hear their own voices. And yes, throwing chairs and making a huge mess."

Germany was beyond pissed off, it was clear. Not even Italy sobbing and clinging to him could bring him out of his rage. He was slamming his hands on the table and barking out orders, but nobody wanted to listen to the normally commanding nation. It was a big deal when someone as large as Russia fell, too big a deal for anyone to let someone spoil their good spirits. After many minutes of wasting his time and breath, Germany sagged and rubbed his temples. An arm snaked around Italy to pat him on the shoulder in an effort to calm his crying.

"I have no idea vhat to do," he murmured, barely audible over the clamor. "Zhey von't listen, und I fear zhat ve von't be able to continue vith zhe rest of zhe conference. Ve might have to reschedule until zhe news dies."

America tapped a finger to his jaw in thought. A smile curled his lips. "We could always do something drastic to get their attention."

"Vhat did you have in mind?" Germany inquired wearily. "Hopefully nozhing _too_ drastic..."

"FREE ALCOHOL FOR EVERYONE, _MY_ TREAT!" America exclaimed, his words piercing clearly through even the most heated debates. The reaction he had intended for with his statement was almost instantaneous. Everyone who had been actively engaged broke off and considered it for a few seconds. Then, cheering broke out.

"That's me, the hero." He lifted his chin arrogantly. "Just this one time, I will sacrifice some of my funds to contribute to world peace. No big deal, yo!"

"Yes, yes, perfect," England praised. Just this one time. "We will release everyone for the day and adjourn the following day. Perhaps hung over they will not think of the Soviet Union."

Germany shrugged hopelessly. He tightened his hold on Italy when the man's sobbing became the occasional sniffling. "Zhat is fine vith me, I guess."

"Everyone who is interested, please meet at the..." England broke off, shooting a questioning look at America. They conferred silently. "...'that bar nearby.'"

"I don't know what the hell it's called, but as long as it has alcohol, who cares, right?" America laughed obnoxiously. "Come on, everyone! My treat, remember? Let's get fuckin' wasted!" He marched out the door, and something similar to a stampede of wild, unquenchable animals raced after him. Left in their wake was a trail of disaster, broken furniture, scattered and crumpled papers, and glum nations that had been screamed at despite having no part in the conflict.

England patted Germany on the shoulder. "I will stay and clean up. Please, go have fun."

"Danke," he muttered gratefully, leading Italy out the door with him.

England collected up his own documents to put into his briefcase while the quiet nations filtered out slowly. When he looked back up to gauge the amount of damage, he was alone.

* * *

America held the door of the bar—its extremely long name in Cyrillic characters deterred him from speaking it out loud to slowly and awkwardly pronounce it—and allowed nation after nation to pass through and take their places in the bar. Needless to say, the employees were stunned at the sheer amount of customers. Once everyone had entered, he wiped a gathering tear from the corner of his eye and fished out his wallet. Oh, how it hurt. Forcing a grin to his face, he approached the manager, who had rushed in to see what the disruption was. "Hey, dude, it's all on me." He handed the man his card. "Take down my information and send me the bill. I'm paying for everyone."

Once that had finished, America found that he was too anxious to drink. He could only imagine what his boss would say when he found out that the United States was responsible for paying for the countries of the world to get drunk. Oh, well. He would deal with it when it came with his smooth words and charming disposition. He figured that his business here was done, and he could go find a restaurant to pig out in.

He opened the door to the bar, took a few steps out, and immediately ran into that damned brick wall again. "Shit," he cursed, slipping on the ice but managing to catch himself on the door handle. He raised his chin to meet a depressed man's violet gaze. "Russia," he greeted, biting back a rather mean comment that popped into his head. Now wasn't the time to have his skull cracked by celebrating the collapse of the Soviet Union, even though it pleased him a fair bit. Not that he'd share that bit with ex-Soviet Russia.

"Privyet, Amerika," he mumbled back softly. He fiddled with the edge of his scarf. "Surely you have not forgotten to visit me?"

Oh, damn. With all the excitement, he _had_ forgotten that he was supposed to visit Russia again and stay the night. He faked a grin. "Of course not, man. Let me get some things from my hotel room."

It didn't take him long to collect a few articles of clothing and his hygienic products, and they were on their way to Russia's house. From the way he drove calmly and gently braked and accelerated when needed, America knew the towering man was not feeling right. He sighed inwardly. Dealing with a depressed Russia was not his idea of a fun evening. As long has he didn't agree to any more games where losing would earn him another evening in hell, he would be fine.

They stopped in front of the house-castle and exited the vehicle. Once inside, America shrugged off his overcoat and hung it on the coat rack near the door. He dropped his bag and kicked it across the floor, watching as it stopped in front of an armchair. "So what now, big guy?"

"Dinner?" Russia suggested without even looking at him.

"Sure, but let's avoid the cabbage this time," America quipped with a laugh. "Got any actual meat?"

* * *

Dinner had been quiet except for the occasional scrape of knife and fork against ceramic. Russia wasn't willing to speak, and America was fine with that. If he could get through the night without anything too awkward occurring, that would work with him. He finished the steak that Russia had prepared for him with a satisfied noise. "Delicious," he complimented, rubbing his belly. "I suppose I should just expect it every time."

A small smile lit up Russia's face. His voice was no louder than the wind sweeping through the snow when he replied, "Spasiba."

"Not a problem." America winked before grabbing his dishes and Russia's own and taking them to the sink. This time, he wasn't going to let the host do all the work. He wasn't that much of a lazy asshole. While washing them, he noted that Russia hadn't even made one move to stop him. "What else would you like to do? If you're tired, we can just go right to sleep." Please, please, _please_.

"I have thought of a game..." Russia trailed off, peering up at him hopefully.

America groaned in his head. Outwardly, he grinned, hoping he didn't look as constipated as he thought he did. "What is it?"

"It is a variant of yesterday's. Only this time, I will hide, and you will find me, da?"

"Rules?" America shot at him, refusing to give affirmation before knowing what he'd have to look forward to.

"Mmm," Russia hummed at him, "if you find me, I will visit you in your country. If you cannot find me, we will stay in mine."

_What the fuck?_ America furrowed his brow. No matter what, he was not going to shake this clingy nation off his back. He lost either way it ended, but not being able to find the hulking man would eat away at his pride. And refusing a competition... it was going to be tough to deny him. If there was one thing America hated, it was looking weak. He would rather be in his own country, anyway. "All right. That's fine." He finished drying the dishes and putting them where he remembered they belonged and wiped his hands with the dish towel nearby.

"I'll start counting. Sixty, right?"

"Da."

He nodded and turned his back on Russia, which immediately seemed like a horrible idea. He forced it from his mind and began. "One... two... three..." Fifty seconds later (America's seconds were short), he concluded his counting and turned back around, half expecting to come face-to-face with a sharp object and a murderous Russian. However, when the empty kitchen was his greeting, he crossed his arms. He had no idea how large the house was, and apparently there was a basement. The thought of entering a dark basement sent a shiver down his spine. Damned fear of the thought of ghosts. He couldn't seem to shake it.

His feet carried him back to the foyer. It was dark, as he had expected. The Russian adored playing in the dark, it seemed. He could make out the furniture and curiosity overtook him. He peered behind the sofa he had taken his last stand behind and noticed that Russia had refused to fix the hole he had created in the floor. That had really startled him, he mused, continuing his search calmly. The last place he expected to be caught was from below.

If there was a basement, was there an attic? Another shiver. Damn this! He wanted to search with light.

He mindlessly opened doors to rooms he knew were completely empty in search of the Russian. This continued until he was at the end of the hallway and about to climb the steps to the second floor. He paused, then squinted. He certainly hadn't noticed the small doorway in the stairwell that no doubt led to the basement Russia had caught him from. It was cracked slightly. The thought of even going near it made him want to break down into a crying mess. Hell no, he wasn't going in there! That's where shit from horror movies took place.

Shuddering in fear, he hurried his steps to take him up to the second floor. A scour of the area told him that Russia definitely wasn't hiding on this floor. The third floor proved fruitless, as well. _Where the hell was he?_ His lack of results were telling him to go back and check the basement or continue up to the fourth floor, where he had never been. He shot down the first idea and instead ascended the rickety staircase to the floor above him. There weren't many doors on this floor, and it was much narrower than the rest. A few shelves and picture frames adorned the walls. He couldn't even hope to make out the photos without light. It was completely dark, and his heart was beating with the thoughts that swam through his head. The possibility of a ghost lurking around these upper or the lowest floors had him increasing his footsteps. He paused when he noticed a door to his right. He should open it, but by this point, he was afraid of finding more than a silvery-haired, violet-eyed, childishly smiling nation. He was ashamed when the notion of giving up crossed his mind.

He jumped several feet into the air and couldn't help but scream when a deep female voice rang through the house, along with the deafening slam of the front door.

"I am here! Where are _you?!_"

He grabbed at his frantically beating heart and took large gulps of air. Russia had a guest that he hadn't been expecting, apparently. He thought his heart was going to burst out of his throat when the door he had considered opening swung towards him. Russia bolted out of what appeared to be a sparsely used storage closet and wrapped a hand around his mouth to contain his yelps of, "_Ghost!_"

Russia appeared more frightened than America did. He leaned towards his captive and whispered desperately, "Go in there and say not one word. _Please_." He ushered the protesting American into his former hiding spot and closed the door, as white as the ghost he had been accused of being. With hurried steps, Russia rushed to meet his sister, who was screaming for him.

"Da, s-sweet sister, I am here! W-what brings y-you to my home?" he announced with false enthusiasm when he entered the foyer and saw Belarus clawing like a deranged animal at his furniture.

Her head snapped towards him, and her eyes narrowed, suspicious. "Where were you, big brother? What took you so long?"

"I-I was in my room. I have work..."

She glared at him for a moment, sizing up his reply. "All right." Like a light switch, her disposition shifted to utter ecstasy at being near her brother. "Big brother, I am so happy to see you. So, so _happy_." She rushed towards him to wrap her arms around him and nearly tripped over America's nondescript, discarded overnight bag. The sight of it caused her to go into hysterics. "What is _this?!_ Who is here with you?!"

"Belarus, m-my dear, sweet little s-sister, nobody is here w-with me. M-maybe Lithuania accidentally forgot it when he l-left."

At the mention of Lithuania, Belarus became sympathetic. "Dear brother, come here. Let me comfort you." She had heard about Russia's union dissolving, and that was part of the reason she had decided to visit. The other part was obvious; she was going to try to coax a marriage proposal out of him while he was potentially vulnerable. She continued walking towards Russia with her arms outstretched.

Russia hesitated and then allowed his sister to wrap her arms around his waist and bury her face in his coat. "Spasiba, Belarus. I-I appreciate it." He patted her head delicately, as if afraid she would bite him.

"Let me see what you are working on," she demanded, raising her head to stare into his eyes. "I want to see."

"O-okay..." Reluctantly, he led her to the staircase to take her to his study. He wasn't sure how long his sister would be there, and he didn't know how long he could keep the feisty American hidden away from her sharp eyes. The thought of Belarus seeing America in his home terrified him.

America was pissed when he had been shoved like a useless old coat into the closet. He hadn't remained in there for long and decided to await Russia's return in his study. Not that he wanted to peek at important information or anything. He did disinterestedly shift through a few of the top ones in his boredom, though. The small print and amount of Cyrillic characters made him cringe. He could never hope to decode all of that. He plopped down into the chair in front of Russia's desk sideways with his legs dangling off the armrest. He twirled a pen between his fingers and stared up at the light he had turned on.

When Russia had looked to his study door and found it cracked with the light softly streaming through, he freaked out. He hadn't done that, which meant the American was in his study—his exact destination for Belarus. Oh, no, no, that wouldn't do at all. He swiveled his head to meet Belarus's piercingly expectant gaze. "D-dear Belarus, I forgot... I am w-working on something very t-top secret for my country. I-I cannot show it to you."

She surprisingly didn't seem angered by this information. She shrugged her shoulders lightly. "That is fine, I suppose." When she turned her head and spotted Russia's bed, she blinked several times. "Oh, brother..."

When the silky tone reached Russia's ears, he took his distracted gaze off of the study door. _Please, Amerika, do not say anything._ He gave Belarus a tight smile. "Da?"

Before he knew it, he was being forced towards his bed. When the edge hit the back of his knees, he tumbled down on top of it. Startled, he backed up towards the headboard. The way his sister was staring at him hungrily filled him with alarm. Perhaps being on the bed was not the best idea around his amorous sibling. Especially when she climbed on top of it and began advancing up his body on her hands and knees.

"Brother," she whispered seductively, her heart beating faster. She could smell his favorite flower on him, and it made her smile. Her face nuzzled against his scarf. Being so close to her (fearfully) trembling brother was making her dizzy with lust.

America had heard voices in the bedroom and became interested. Russia had a lady friend over? He was almost insulted that he was being forced to hide away while the intimidating country satisfied his primal needs. Feeling self-conscious at his actions, he peeked out the doorway and held his breath. It wasn't to peep on them, no, it was to figure out his success rate of escaping while Russia was busy. For a second, he wasn't sure what to think about the couple on the bed. _They look __similar_, was a thought. Hearing the breathy murmurs of "big brother" brought another:_ Oh, that must be his sister molesting his neck._ Seeing Russia's panic-stricken face finished his process: _Hmm, he's not really enjoying himself._

America gasped loudly and fell face-first into the room, knocking over a lamp. _That's his sister! What the fuck!_ Hmm, by the way they were both staring at him, he supposed he had said that out loud. Or it could be the lamp that was laying in broken pieces nearby. "Uh, sorry for interruptin'." That was all he could think to say before he dashed out of the room.

"YOU SAID NOBODY WAS HERE, BIG BROTHER!" Belarus exploded behind him before her pounding, angry footsteps pursued him.

America leaped down the staircase, skipping nearly every step to gain as much distance between him and the creepy woman that he could. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he ruefully smirked. He supposed that he had developed a kink for playing keep-away with crazy, bloodthirsty foreigners. He didn't give it a second thought when he disappeared through the cracked door of the basement, slamming it noticeably and settled himself behind a pile of crates. They will think he left, and when everything was calm, he would make his escape. Yup, just another day as America. He chuckled lightly at the thought.

When he opened his eyes to make out his surroundings with what little light trickled through the floorboards, he came face-to-face with a shuddering Russia, who had his arms around America and was doing the surveying for him.

While the country's sudden appearance next to him startled him considerably, for he hadn't heard any noise during his musings about how sneakily clever he was, he realized he was becoming desensitized to the large man popping out of strange places. He narrowed his eyes at the possessive hold the man had on him. A wave of discomfort hit him. "Hey, this is my hiding spot. Find your own, dude."

"N-nyet, p-please, I cannot go back out t-there," Russia stuttered at him, increasing the intensity of his hold for fear of being thrown to the wolves, so to speak. His neck was covered with drying saliva, and his scarf was slipping from his shoulders. With the way his shoulders heaved, his breath came out in sharp pants, and his lovely violet eyes were locked with the doorknob to the basement, he was clearly not pleased with their situation.

"Are you... afraid of her?" America snapped, rubbing his arms to chase away the chilly air. "How the hell does that happen?"

"She wishes... ah, to marry me," Russia shared this bit of knowledge and flushed. "I was afraid that she would someday force herself on me, but I cannot say I was expecting."

America subtly shifted back, feeling his head touch a wall. "That sucks." His glasses slipped from his face when they both jumped at the sound of Belarus apparently tearing her way through rooms in search of her "traitorous big brother" and the "idiotic harlot."

Biting his lip in anger, America glared at the side of Russia's face. "Why'd you invite me if she was comin' over?"

"I did not know. She tends to visit rather unexpectedly," he admitted. "I should have known that she would visit after Lith..." The way he trailed off and buried his face in his hands alerted America to the fact that he was unwilling to finish his sentence.

"There, there..." America awkwardly patted his companion on the shoulder despite being wrapped up in his limbs. Never had he felt as uncomfortable as he did now. Hell, France could demand that he share his bed with him, and he'd be less uncomfortable. ...Maybe. Nonetheless, he was completely turned off to the idea of remaining in Russia's home. "I'm just gonna head back to my hotel after she leaves, if you don't mind."

Russia swung his head around and stared down at the man in his arms. His eyes widened and he shook his head frantically, leaning closer. "Nyet, you must stay!"

America scooted back until he was completely pressed against the wall. It wasn't surprising that Russia followed him, appearing much too large for the space they were occupying. He turned his face so he wouldn't have to look at those glassy eyes. Russia wasn't going to cry, was he? He didn't think he could handle it if the largest nation broke down and soaked him with his tears.

Russia stopped inches away from him and let out a long breath. It fluttered the hair on top of America's head. He was incredibly unhappy, and yet another person leaving him would devastate him. They had been having fun... Why did his sister have to show up? Now he was going to lose his little America. Interested with the way America locked eyes with him, blushing, he paused in his thought process. "Hm?"

"You..." America shook his head. "Never mind."

Russia was confused with how flustered the man under him was. They both tensed when Belarus stomped right above their heads, screeching, "BECOME ONE WITH ME, BIG BROTHER!" Once her footsteps had receded towards the kitchen, he let out the breath he was holding.

America shuddered under him and glared fiercely. "Stop it, damn it!"

"What am I doing?" His confusion was mounting. He wanted him to stop breathing?

"Stop breathing on my hair..."

"Prosti, but why does it bother you?"

"Never mind!" America snapped.

Without thinking of the consequences, Russia reached out a hand to grip the lock of hair that rebelliously stood up from the rest of his hair. Despite how precarious their situation was, he couldn't help but tug at it curiously. He felt America fall limp below him.

"R-Russia," America whispered angrily, his cheeks burning, "I said 'never mind.' Get your hands off me, bastard!"

"Why does this hair affect you so?" He stroked a finger up its length and tightened his hold on the squirming mass below him. He had almost forgotten about Belarus roaming above them.

America gasped, clutching at the Russian's coat. "Goddamn it..."

Suddenly it clicked. "You are sensitive here, da?"

"No shit! Stop touching it!"

Russia smirked slightly. He retreated only after tugging at it once more and ignoring the protests that flew out of the blond man's mouth. He nuzzled against America, feeling considerably calmer after his horrifying experience with his sister. He had no qualms about resting in this spot with America while they hid. He was so tired...

America knew Russia had fallen asleep, for the weight on top of him increased, and he found himself trapped. He groaned, snatching up his glasses and putting them back on his face. He peered down at the silvery locks that were tucked under his chin. Rolling his eyes, he listened for any sounds that Belarus was making. After minutes of remaining completely still and alert, he concluded that the woman had given up and left. That was his cue to leave, but there was no way he could wiggle out of Russia's heavy grip. Grudgingly, he decided that he would sleep through the rest of the night. It wasn't as if he had a choice.


	5. V: America Sympathizes

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter V: America Sympathizes**

_Canada and America plan to switch places at the world conference._

* * *

"Amerika, dear sweet Amerika..."

_America groaned, the images vivid and clear in his mind. He hated being teased, yet here he was, unable to move and only able to watch as his mortal enemy whispered sweetly in his ear while stroking his neck almost lovingly. He struggled against his bonds and yelled something that his own ears didn't pick up on. It confused him. Why did he sound so muffled when there was obviously nothing covering his mouth? He tried again and fought harder at the chains binding him. Still nothing._

"Amerika... Amerika..."

_He twisted his head to glare at the smiling Russian that hovered next to him. 'What?' he mouthed, since his vocal folds weren't working that day._

"Please wake up, Amerika. I would hate to have to use less, ah, conventional methods."

_He was confused. So very, very confused. Suddenly, a palm struck him across the face._

He burst from dreamland into the arms of Russia, who appeared miffed. He was still laying on the floor of the basement, but soft morning light was filtering in from between the floorboards and a grimy window that he hadn't noticed in the darkness last night. His cheek was stinging, and there was something rather soft and incredibly saliva-soaked between his teeth. That something trailed down his chin and neck, then returned its ascension back up to Russia's looming form, wrapped around his neck several times.

"Please give my scarf to me."

He spat it out and flushed. He let out a nervous chuckle and pressed himself flat against the wall behind him. "Sorry 'bout that, dude. I don't know what came over me."

Russia said nothing and instead studied the damp end of his scarf with interest.

"I'm sure it'll dry..."

Violet eyes flicked up to his own. More silence.

"Well, I need to prepare for the conference. Plus, today's my day to speak, so... would you mind giving me a ride back, bro?"

"I would not mind. Please, allow me to also prepare before we leave." Russia pulled his companion to his feet and tugged him towards the staircase. He pouted slightly when they ascended to the ground floor and turned to give America a thoughtful look. "Prosti menya, Amerika, for my little sister's behavior last night. However, you appeared very calm despite being chased with a rather large knife."

"She had a knife?" That was news to him. Nonetheless, he couldn't find it in him to care. "Ah, well, it was nothin'. Call me insane, but I must be starting to even like you crazy foreigners chasing me." It was a joke, of course, but Russia was blinking rapidly and fighting a growing blush by ducking bashfully into his scarf.

"Breakfast time, da?"

"If you make it, sure."

* * *

_I don't know what the hell I was dreaming about this morning_, America grumbled to himself inwardly._ It wasn't the right way to start my day, though. I need to get the hell out of Russia and have some real fun._

He had refused to walk into the meeting with Russia, so he had made a few rapid, flustered excuses about needing to visit his hotel room for some notes. Before Russia could even respond, America was rushing out of his still-moving car and towards his hotel.

He hid rather dramatically against the wall when he had entered the hotel, surprising the employees with his sudden appearance and erratic behavior. He counted to sixty before standing up and straightening his tie. Time for pure gold to flow out of his mouth. He was much earlier than he was used to, so leisurely walking to the building where the conference was to be held was more than acceptable. It gave him more time to organize his thoughts.

He turned to the door and immediately ran into another body. He groaned out loud, thinking the Russian had followed him in. Instead, though, there was an almost mirror image of himself, with a white bear in his arms, sprawled on the floor. He opened and closed his mouth for a few seconds and then furrowed his brow. "Who the hell are you, and why do you look like me, America impostor?!"

"Ha, ha, ha," Canada muttered sarcastically in annoyance. He began to lift himself to stand, but a hand hovering in the air before him made him pause. He followed it up to America's smiling face.

"I'm just kidding, bro. I haven't talked to you in forever. Wanna walk with me to the conference?"

Canada grasped his hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He dusted himself to remove any unwanted debris and peered at his brother over his lenses. "You're kidding, eh? How would _you_ like to not be noticed all the time?"

America gasped rather loudly to emphasize his point, causing an employee to drop something. "That could never happen. I'm me, ya know? The world can't help but notice."

Canada grumbled but smiled tightly, tugging him along behind him as he opened the door that led outside into the snow. "That would be nice..."

"Why aren't you noticed, anyway? You look just like me, you adorable little scamp!"

The shyer man slapped at the hand that grabbed at his cheek and shook his head. He cuddled the bear he carried with one arm and kissed his brother's hand fondly. Thoughtfully, he stared at the gray skies in the distance. "We do look alike, but there are some differences."

"Pfft," America denied eloquently. "We're, like, twins. Identical."

"Almost in appearance, but our personalities are completely different."

"Ever tried to be me?"

The question surprised Canada, and he whirled his head around to give America a confused look.

"You know... dressed and acted like me?"

Canada turned his head away and blushed. "I... have thought aboot it."

"Cute," America complimented, returning the kiss to his brother's knuckles. He pondered the idea for several moments. "I wouldn't mind being you for a little bit. Since you're not so noticeable, I can find out what people are really saying about me during my presentation. It'd better be things like, 'Oh, America, you handsome devil, gift us more ideas from that wonderful mind of yours!' or, 'Your awesomeness is so much greater than mine! Why can't you speak at every meeting?' Fucking Prussia..."

"You're such a damn narcissist, eh." Despite his insult, he was laughing behind one hand.

"You love it, too! Look at you, bro, you're totally enjoying it! S'okay, it's just the North American charm. Which, I could add, includes _you_."

America's pointed look sent Canada into furious blushing. "What, you're calling me a narcissist? I'll have you know..."

"No, no, no. You're shy as hell. I'm just saying, you have the looks and the potential. With a little bit of encouragement, I think you could really get everyone's attention."

"I don't know..." He was feeling so modest at the thought. He hugged his bear closer to his chest and lowered his eyes to the bricks below him.

"Ya know, this whole conversation gives me, like, the best idea ever. After my presentation, I'll discuss it with ya."

"O-okay, sure. Should I be worried?"

"Mmm, _maybe_." America guffawed boisterously at his brother's mock panic-stricken face. He eagerly slapped the other man's back in his amusement and watched guiltily as Canada tumbled down into the snow from the force behind his innocent gesture.

* * *

"I would like to welcome the newly independent nations of Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia—" The rest of his words were lost in the rowdiness of the crowd that was welcoming them to their world conference. "Our speaker for the next few days will be... America—" England was cut off by loud groans of disgust. He ignored them, though he was preparing to feel the same way once America had opened his mouth and begun spewing nonsense at them. "—so please give him your undivided attention as he presents about... 'One World, Many Currencies, and Endless Plots'... O-oh, dear."

"World, may I have your attention, please? Haha, just kidding, I've already had it!" America began with a wave of his hand. He sent a wink to his brother, who hunched farther down in his seat in embarrassment. "Today, and possibly during the next few days, depending on how much I have to say, I'll be talking to you about my proposed idea: one form of currency. I know we all have, like, a ton of different ones, like..." He broke off, tapping a finger to his jaw in thought. He shrugged helplessly. "Exactly my point. We have so many I can't even remember all of them!"

England stifled a sigh and slapped a hand over his face in shame. He could feel the amused and somewhat offended auras of the other countries all around him. _If he's not careful, the bloody git will find himself with multiple war proposals by the end of this..._

"I mean, why should we have so many different ones? Wouldn't it be easier to just combine them all into one and not have to deal with the exchange rate? I'm here to tell you all about my idea to take all of the different currencies and create one super currency. Unless, of course, there is a more sinister purpose for it lurking in the background..."

When they broke off for lunch break, nearly everyone was snickering uncontrollably behind their hands or glowering hatefully at America, but this was nothing new.

"At least he strives to make it fun, oui?" France chortled, wrapping an arm around England's shaking shoulders. Unlike France, he was shaking with embarrassment, not amusement. The Frenchman gave the other country a sympathetic look when he didn't relent or offer his usual sarcastically elegant input.

America, meanwhile, was happily packing up his papers and pushing his glasses back up to rest at the top of his nose. He knew that the countries didn't always agree with his ideas, but it was still a fun way to pass the time. He felt his brother pat him on the shoulder and compliment him on his delivery of his information, but he raised his chin to watch as Russia neared the newly independent Baltic countries and asked them to come back to his house. He shook his head and turned to give his brother his attention. "Thanks, man."

"Would you like to eat lunch with me?"

"Sure, why not? Know any good places around here? Perhaps... Americanized a bit?"

Canada stuck his tongue out. "I made some lunch. I'm insulted that you don't even want to try it."

"Pan... pancakes?" America became starry-eyed and clutched him desperately. "Please tell me you made pancakes and have some of that really awesome syrup!"

"That's a breakfast item," he reminded his brother dryly. "But I can arrange it, eh. Let's go back to my hotel room."

"I love you, man! Come here!" He engulfed his brother in a tight hug.

"U-uhm, let's get going." Despite his reluctance to return the sentiment, Canada was visibly pleased with the affection. He allowed himself to be pulled out the door into the swarming crowd of leaving countries.

Russia watched them leave curiously while his former underlings ran from him in pure, unadulterated terror.

* * *

"Oh, my _God_," America moaned through the lump of half-eaten pancakes in his mouth. He closed his eyes and chewed, savoring the food. Swallowing it and licking his fingers free of the sticky maple syrup that accompanied them, he informed his brother, "It has been so long since I've had anything like this. Feels like I've only been eating cabbage lately." He realized what he had just admitted and waved his hand dismissively. "I mean, shit, everything _seems_ to taste like cabbage."

"That's pretty weird, Alfred. You don't even _like_ vegetables."

"I know, but what can you do? Besides stuff your face full of Mattie's delicious pancakes, of course." He winked at the flustered man and continued devouring his meal at a steady pace, showing no signs of stopping anytime soon.

Canada picked at his own lunch with less enthusiasm. He raked his curious gaze over America's pleasant expression. "So, what was that plan you were going to tell me aboot?"

America swallowed another bite of pancake and smirked, waving an admonishing finger at him. "I'll tell you after the meeting ends, remember? I'm still going over the finer details in my mind."

"_You_, engaging in intelligent and organized thought, eh?" He feigned surprise, laughing at the swat of America's hand it earned him. He sobered up once his laughter had subsided. "I'm a little nervous aboot what you're planning, honestly. It seems like I always have to pay for your mistakes. People only notice me when they're unable to find you and are angry."

"That sucks," America replied, frowning, "but what's the worst that could happen? It's just a harmless joke..."

"What is?" Canada smiled at him knowingly.

"Er, nothing _yet_. In fact, I don't even know if it'll be funny."

"I guess I'll just have to trust you on this."

"I guess you will, huh? That's why I'm the hero."

* * *

The presentation continued after an hour of lunch break, and with the countries comfortably full of food and having had a break from America's ideas, they were almost ready to endure another couple hours of it.

"So, now that everyone is back, I want to bring you to 'Part II: Secret Plots to Take Over the World.' You might think that something as small as a bill can't possibly be harmless. Well, I'm here to tell you that you're _dead_ wrong."

"Never again, never again," England chanted to himself like one of his beloved incantations, sobbing silently into his hands.

"All those little numbers and symbols could summon unwanted aliens or something, and why not? I hear they can perform planetary conquest in a matter of hours. Surely the idea could be... tempting."

Germany couldn't help but add a little of his own dry input. "But America, does your own currency not have a lot of zhese... little numbers und symbols?"

"Yeah, but I already ran it over with my buddy Tony. He told me that it didn't interest him." Realizing that nobody was following him, he shook his head. "Never mind that. Anyway, to answer your question, my dear friend Germany, _yes_, my currency has a lot of numbers and symbols, but _no_, they're not for summoning an alien race to do my bidding. You have nothing to fear from the hero."

Knowing his logic would get nowhere with the dreamer of a nation, Germany bit back a retort. Instead, he remained intimidatingly silent.

America managed to avoid any more questions that could make him look even more foolish due to the fact that half of his audience was completely brain-dead by the time he had finished speaking. "And that's all I have to say about possible ways one could exploit different types of money. Tomorrow morning, I will continue with the third part, 'Merging Our Money: Not Only More Convenient, But Also the Beginning of World Peace.' See ya guys tomorrow!"

While the countries wearily filed out, desperate to get out of America's overbearing presence, he was wiping away the blackboard he had been writing on, which was mostly full of his lazy doodles of aliens. He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked over to meet eyes as blue as his own, if not a little bit darker. He stared blankly at his look-alike. "Who the hell are you?"

"Alfred!" Canada growled, clenching his fist.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! What's up, Mattie?"

"That was an... interesting presentation. Do you really think there are countries who plan to do evil things with their money?"

"I don't think; I know so. It happens all the time, anyway. There are many things you can do with the right amount of cash, evil or otherwise." He didn't bother offering any of the gritty details to his curious brother, wincing as he thought of his own country engaging in unsavory activity. "I'm just having fun sharing my ideas. If I'm going to be up here wasting hours droning on about something nobody cares about, I want to make sure I'm at least entertained, even if England yells at me for it. Way worth it, broski."

"Hmm," Canada hummed at him in thought. "I guess there's nothing wrong with that. Perhaps you could explain it a bit more. Want to go on a walk with me? There are other matters to discuss, after all, eh?" He gave him a pointed look, lowering his voice so as to not be overheard by any lingering countries.

"Yeah, I gotcha. Loud and clear. Let me finish packing up, and then we can go on that walk you mentioned. Too bad it's so fucking cold outside," he grumbled, patting his hands together, somewhat self-conscious of the chalk dust it caused. "I want to go home."

Canada nodded. "I miss home, too."

America finished packing up his materials and led his brother out of the near-empty conference room. He felt a hand grasp onto his bomber jacket, and he swiveled his head to face the person who was trying to get his attention.

Russia stared down at him, a perplexed expression on his face. "Amerika, your presentation today puzzled me much more than your last ones."

The blond man laughed at him. "That's the point, dude. Nobody can understand the things that go through my awesome head."

Canada looked between them suspiciously. "Alfred, let's go."

Russia appeared startled at the new voice and finally noticed the man standing next to the American. He took in his features, eyes widening. "Amerika, I did not know you had achieved human cloning. Impressive as it is, I must admit that it is not a perfect copy."

America barked out a laugh while Canada flushed angrily. Another possessive tug to his sleeve had him walking briskly away from the Russian man, who didn't bother to pursue. The two brothers disappeared down a flight of stairs and out of hearing range. Only once Canada was sure that Russia was nowhere near them, he whispered, "Why is he talking to you all of a sudden? I thought you guys were enemies because of... well, you know." He felt awkward bringing up the Cold War to his potentially sensitive brother.

"Oh, nah, I don't care about that anymore. More of a competition than anything, ya know? Anyway, he just kind of started talking to me lately. Dunno why." He figured bringing up his visits to Russia's house would cause more harm than help, so he rushed into a new topic. "Let's discuss my genius plan for tomorrow's entertainment, and then if you're still interested, I'll tell you more in depth about my presentation. Merging money is actually a good idea, after all. I need supporters."

Canada walked comfortably next to his brother, nodding eagerly. "Yes, please tell me. I'm curious, and I have no plans for the evening."

They neared a solitary park bench after ten minutes of walking from the building they had exited. It was surrounded by leafless trees that were dusted with fresh snow that had been falling while they were in the meeting. America and Canada brushed the fine powder from the bench and seated themselves on it, rubbing their hands together and blowing warm air onto their frigid, gloved hands.

"So I was thinkin' about what you said this morning," America began, peering at him with a startling seriousness. "You said you thought about being me."

"I won't deny it, but what does it matter?"

"What if we switched places for a day?"

Canada stopped rubbing his hands together and stared at his companion with growing horror and disbelief. "That... that would never work. No way. Get that out of your head right now."

"And why not? You heard the Ruski. He thought you were my damn clone."

"Surely he must have been joking, I mean..." Canada trailed off, gesturing to their hair. "We have different shades of hair, and they're not even cut the same way."

"You think people would really notice that your hair is a little darker than mine, maybe somewhat longer?"

"You must be joking. Tell me you're joking. 'A little,' 'maybe somewhat'? They are very different. In fact, if England saw us trying to be each other, he'd instantly realize what was going on."

"You don't even want to try it? Not even a little bit? Besides, I doubt England would do anything. He can't stand to disrupt a world conference. The embarrassment would give him a heart attack. Did you see the way he reacted during my presentation? Poor guy needs to get laid or somethin'."

"We would be disrupting the world conference by playing this joke—yes, it's a joke, but it doesn't seem very funny."

America groaned. "Come on, dude, live a little. I think we could pull it off. We just need to meet up and practice being each other until we've perfected it."

"What aboot your presentation tomorrow?!"

"You give it," America informed him with a mischievous smirk. "I was going to tell you all about my ideas tonight, so you'll be a born-again master by tomorrow."

"Talking... in front of a crowd..." Canada appeared visibly nauseous and a little dizzy at the thought.

"No, don't do that. The United States never falters at public speaking. You _want_ people to look at you and listen to you talk. Get it?"

"I am _not_ the United States!" Canada suddenly yelled at him, eyes haunted and features troubled. He blinked sheepishly a few times at the alarmed expression on his brother's face. "...Sorry. I guess I'm a little sensitive aboot it, since everyone always thinks I'm you."

America dropped his gaze to his shoes. He was speechless for once.

Canada mimicked him, swinging his legs and petting his bear that was, as always, silently and obediently nestled in his arms.

"I think it's time to show everyone that you're Canada, not me."

The shyer brother's eyes shot up to meet the brilliant blue of his look-alike.

"You're not me," America explained calmly, his eyes softening. "I can't say I know how you're feeling about always being mistaken for me, but I do know that it's something that needs to be fixed. You want to be noticed, don't you? I can see you soaking up every little bit of attention I give to you."

Canada blushed but didn't bother to deny it.

"I want to be you so I can give you that little jump start you need to becoming your own person. You have trouble opening up and being sociable. I get it. Perhaps throwing you into my role so suddenly isn't the greatest idea, but it'll get you some exposure to being the center of peoples' attention. You'll learn to love the idea of eyes roaming your entire body, drinking in your every action and word as if they're refreshing, frosty beers on a warm summer's day in July." America closed his eyes, a lazy, pleased smile crossing his face. "I could go for some beer. Mmm..."

Canada shook his head. "I don't get it, eh."

"I know, but you will. But we won't get anywhere by just sitting here. Wanna head back to your hotel room and start practicing? You have an eye-opening speech to give tomorrow, and if you're a stuttering, blushing mess, everyone will know something's up." He snickered at the way Canada did just what he accused him of, stuttering and blushing.

"You're cute, bro. With your dashingly handsome looks, nobody will be able to resist talking to you tomorrow when I assume your identity." America felt his brother take his hand, and he squeezed it reassuringly. He fished out his suddenly buzzing cellphone from his pocket and glanced at it. 'Boss' lit up on the screen. "I already know what it's about," he muttered to himself, pressing the ignore key and depositing it back into his pocket. He would deal with it later.

Together, the North American brothers made their way back to the warmth of the hotel while a fuming Russian personification clutching a lead pipe trailed behind them, invisible within the falling snow.


	6. VI: A Downward Spiral

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter VI: A Downward Spiral**

_Russia creates trouble for the North American brothers, and America receives a curious letter._

* * *

Canada dipped a finger into the collar of his uniform and smiled nervously at America, who trailed behind him, feigning his normal shyness with almost too perfect ease. He gritted his teeth and hissed at his scheming brother, "Why did I let you talk me into this, eh?"

"Because it's totally gonna work, and it's going to be fun and hilarious. Now act natural. I don't shake like I'm going to fall over from being unable to lift my own weight." America lowered his eyes to count his footsteps. Kumajirou had surprisingly agreed with a casual blink of his eyes when he was reluctantly handed over to the more charismatic of the two. He cuddled the warm, soft bear in his arms with a sigh. "Man, I need to get one of these. It's so damn warm, like a living, breathing snuggie."

"I don't curse like you do, brother." Canada turned a wicked gaze upon America, his lips peeled back in a toothy grin.

America stared, almost convinced that the person next to him had magically become himself. He returned the grin, albeit with much less enthusiasm. "Of course not, goody-two-shoes. _Eh?_"

They both laughed good-naturedly, enjoying the bonding.

"It's so weird being you. I mean, I like the jacket and all, and our prescriptions are almost the same," he explained, fiddling lightly with Texas perched upon his nose, "but I can't imagine cursing like a sailor and spouting aboot how 'awesome' I am. I don't want to overdo it and end up looking foolish."

"You won't. Awesomeness doesn't have a touchable limit when you're me."

"Ugh," Canada groaned loudly, catching the attention of some nearby countries who were also making their way to the conference room. Nonetheless, he plastered a bright, fake smile upon his face and strutted forward with a confidence that made the countries shake their heads and return to their own business.

"That's it, bro," America whispered, patting him on the shoulder. "Don't forget: merging money is good, and anyone who disagrees is plotting to release an undead legion upon the soil of the planet for world domination purposes. Stick with it, and nobody will even notice your speech impediment."

"Speech impediment?" Canada shot back. "So what's all that 'dude,' 'bro,' and 'man' stuff? And don't make me mention your Tourette's Syndrome with your spastic cursing. You have it bad, broski-dude."

America gave him a bewildered expression. "'Broski-dude'?"

"I don't know, it just slipped out, eh?"

"Eh," America agreed with a smirk and a snicker. He buried his face into Kumajirou's plushy head and inhaled deeply. "Fuck, I need one. Does he have, like, a knob to turn the heat up a little bit? I feel kind of chilly now for some reason..."

"No, dumbass," Canada snapped, covering his mouth at the feeling of a curse word slipping through his defenses. It tingled almost pleasurably.

"Anyway, I need to find a good seat in the audience. I want to be around the major countries so I can listen to what they're saying about me, er, you. You know what I mean." He waved at his brother and dashed into the conference room.

Canada made to do the same, but a buzzing in his pocket made him pause. His hand closed around a vibrating cellphone and pulled it out to stare at it quizzically. "Oh, no, America forgot his cellphone when he gave me these pants." He shrugged and opened it. "H-hello, this is America speaking. Don't let my overwhelming awesomeness scare you away from a nice time."

He shot away from the cellphone, his ear ringing from the yelling that erupted from the speakers, and he desperately slammed down on the volume button on the side so he could actually distinguish the words that were being spoken to him. He pressed it against his ear, and his eyes widened. "I... I, uh, I'm sorry for not answering before, boss. You know how it is: I'm too busy being me."

When the angry barking actually started making sense, he gaped. "I didn't realize that the bill would be so large. Uh, sorry aboot that. I mean, about. About that." He cursed himself inwardly for his slip-up, but the man on the phone didn't seem to realize. "By the way, I thought the idea was to promote world peace, not world hate. Or something like that. Everyone was in an uproar over the dissolution of the Soviet Union, and everyone knows that alcohol is the universal promoter of friendship, right?"

The man seemed to consider his words, but he still appeared cross and insulted that America hadn't consulted him before doing something so drastic. He explained that the boys back home had nearly had heart attacks when a hefty sum was revealed to be owed to some hole-in-the-wall Russian bar. They had no idea if someone had stolen America's information and was abusing it.

Canada nodded sympathetically, even though America's boss couldn't see it. "I won't do it again, I promise. I didn't exactly have time to call and consult, if you know what I mean, eh?"

The boss was silent. He abruptly informed America that he was talking 'funny,' and it concerned him.

"I had too much to drink last night, and my speech is kind of slurred." That was Canada's go-to excuse. It worked like a charm. Though his boss complained about him drinking before an important world meeting, all was forgiven and peaceful once again. Canada prepared to bid farewell and hang up the phone, but a hand spun him around.

He nearly dropped the phone in his shock at Russia leaning over him, but he held on tightly in the event that he needed to call for help.

"Amerika," Russia purred at him, stroking his cheek, "I have missed you."

Canada had little time to react before soft, chapped lips descended down upon his own, pushing firmly in an overly-friendly greeting. He let out a strangled gasp, but a hand cupping the back of his head kept him from bolting to safety. His eyes fluttered closed, and his face warmed up. He couldn't help but wonder what exactly America was doing with Russia that he wasn't telling him. A pang of sudden jealousy shot through him. He pushed it forcibly from his mind and panted out, "R-Russia, what are you..."

Horrified and more than a little stunned, he heard America's boss explode into a frenzied interrogation at what he was hearing. Quickly, he pushed away from Russia and hung up the phone. He refused to meet Russia's amused eyes. "D-don't kiss me again, Russia," he demanded with a noticeable waver. His feigned confidence was shattered by the fact that his shoulders were shaking, and his face was stained almost a permanent red. He fled to a nearby bathroom to compose himself.

* * *

"America is late! That is unsurprising," a country dared to yell, pounding a fist down onto the table's surface in protest. "I do not particularly want to hear what he has to say, but I would rather not sit here and waste so much time."

"Hear, hear"s popped up from all over the room, and they grumbled.

America, who had squeezed his way in between Italy and France, was nearly falling asleep on the bear in his arms. He nodded in approval at his brother's actions. Being early was suspicious, but being late was exactly something he was expected to do. He hardly noticed when Russia entered the room swiftly and took his seat opposite him and a few chairs down. The bear was just too soft, and he loathed to take his attention off it. But Canada was depending on him to help him stand out and make alliances, so he raised his head and peered blearily at Italy.

"Hello there," America spoke up, tapping Italy on the shoulder. He smiled charmingly at the man when he turned to look at him. They shared similarly bright greetings.

"Ciao, uh... hmm..."

"I am Canada," America introduced, propping himself up on the ever-silent bear in his arms, "and this is my pet bear. Would you like to touch him? He's very soft and warm." He nearly offhandedly commented that he could make a really awesome blanket out of it, but he realized how sick and twisted that might appear to the timid Italian man. He bit his tongue and held his brother's bear up.

"_Ve!_ I would love-a to!" Northern Italy stroked the bear's fur delicately and then nudged the German next to him. "Germany, Germany, meet Canada. I think he is a new country."

"I'm not actually new to these meetings, eh," America corrected, fixing his brother's glasses upon his face. "I just haven't been noticed as much as some of the others. I am America's bro—brother."

"I did not-a know America had a brother," Italy exclaimed, calling the attention of the nations around them. They appeared dumbstruck at the information and shot looks at the newly-recognized 'Canada.'

"Vell, it is a pleasure to meet you, even zhough I cannot say zhat being America's Bruder vill count for anyzhing in my book," Germany replied. He firmly but warmly shook America's hand, who grit his teeth in irritation and resisted the urge to punch the blond man in the face. He was about to pull away from him, but Germany held him in place, studying his features. "You look so remarkably like him. Are you sure zhat you aren't America, himself?"

"We are almost twin brothers, identical in many ways. I am a few days younger, though," America informed him coolly.

"Ahh," Germany made a noise of interest and leaned back, finally releasing the other man. "Vill ve be expecting any presentations from you in zhe future?"

America blinked. "I'm... not sure yet. I guess it could be arranged."

"Amerika's brother, _da?_"

The voice he had been dreading softly came from a little ways down the table. He turned his head and forced a bright smile on his face. "Yes, I am. Pleased to meet you." As pleased as he would be admitting England was right about him eating much too unhealthily, that is.

Russia smirked at him, standing and leaning over to extend his hand. Several of the people around him became uncomfortable with the way his shadow fell over them. He grasped America's outstretched hand and leaned impossibly close so he could stare deeply into the man's oceanic blue eyes. His violet ones flickered back and forth between them, and all noise faded around them.

"Amerika, we are waiting for your report," Russia whispered almost sensually into his ear. "I am not thinking your brother is ready to assume your responsibilities."

America reared back and gaped at the intimidating nation. He shook his head wildly and sank down into his chair, tightening his grip on the bear in his arms. "Pleased to meet you, Russia," he repeated mechanically, avoiding the amused gaze that tried to hold his own. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that England was staring very intently at him. He muttered 'O, Canada' under his breath and blocked out Italy's cheerful banter, rocking back and forth.

Seconds after the episode between 'Canada' and Russia, the man everyone was waiting for kicked open the doors and sauntered in as if he owned the place. There was an intense grin on his face, almost wild with his amount of passion, and his blue eyes sparkled. He shook his dark blond hair out of his eyes and ignored the whispering that began at his sudden appearance. Inside, he was shaking like a leaf. He opened his mouth and allowed his script to flow as naturally as possible, "Yo, everyone! I'm sorry I'm so late, but I had a few heroic duties to take care of." He saw England swing his head back and forth to look at them both, utterly mystified. "Now, who's ready to hear about some possible alien invasions and zombies roaming freely in the near future? It could end up being _your_ fault."

* * *

America couldn't help but burst out into laughter and clap enthusiastically at Canada's interpretation of his report. He was incredibly amused and had long put Russia out of his mind. He was smiling so hard that his cheeks ached. He had gone into a long-winded discussion about why a single form of currency was something everyone should consider, and he almost fell out of his chair when his shy brother's hands were flailing while he was accusing anyone that disagreed with his idea of wishing for the destruction of the world. He had even overturned Germany's ever-logical points and made him look like the foolish one. He didn't know Canada had it in him, but he had been proven wrong.

They adjourned for lunch before 'America' could take the stunned nations right into his fourth and final segment, 'The End of World Hunger.' Admittedly, it had nothing to do with America's original point, but as long as his brother was enjoying himself, it hardly mattered to him.

He met up with Canada in the hallway, slapping him on the back. To his utter delight, instead of tumbling to the ground like a weak idiot, he remained standing and even reciprocated the act. He ushered him into an empty side room and closed the door so they could speak privately.

Cuddling the bear in his arms, he burst into companionable conversation. "Dude. Dude._ Dude!_ I'm freaking out over how you awesomely delivered that presentation! Even England seemed fooled! You should have seen your face. You looked like a man with a plan, and everyone around me was actually in awe. They hated the information and ideas, of course, but the passion in your voice..." America broke off with a grin, staring dreamily into the distance as he recalled it. "I have to know how you did it."

Canada, weary from the energy he had exerted during the meeting, sat himself on the long table and crossed his ankles. He twiddled his fingers. "I don't know... I just kind of... pretended that you were the only one in the room most of the time, eh. And when Germany confronted me, I simply imagined that I was defending you. It's easy when you're fighting for someone you love, right?"

America nodded enthusiastically, taking his place next to his brother. Together, they swung their legs back and forth and stared at the door.

The blond Canadian was more flustered than he let on, and it was eating away at him. He leaned against America and his expression became somber. "Is there anything bothering you, Alfred?"

"Eh?" Not in an imitation of his manner of speaking, but in a legitimate form of questioning, he turned to Canada. His eyes were confused. "Whatcha talkin' 'bout?"

"Maybe I should put it this way... Is any_one_ or any_thing_ bothering you?"

Russia popped up into America's head, and he sighed, long and drawn out. He didn't want to discuss it, but... "Yeah, kind of."

"Will you tell me aboot it?"

"I think it was a couple months ago... back during the conference in Berlin. I don't remember if you were there or not."

"I was!" Canada defended crossly, smacking his brother's arm.

"I know, chill out," America responded with a laugh. He calmed himself and continued, "I went to some kind of a club after the last meeting with some of the other countries. I was going to get wasted and probably laid more than once, but something stopped me and forced me to go back to the hotel."

"Really? What was it, eh?"

America was a little ashamed to share his idea. "I think it was a sexually harassing ghost."

Canada, whose sympathy flew out the window metaphorically at the words that entered his ears, glared intensely at America. "I'm being serious."

"So am I!"

"So you're telling me that a ghost has been following you and harassing you since the world conference in Berlin?"

"Well, kind of."

"Does this ghost have a name?" Canada inquired sarcastically. "Maybe... _Russia?_"

America stared at him, wide-eyed. "N-no way, dude! I don't know where you even got that idea from."

Canada pursed his lips and thought back to the friendly peck on the lips that the tall nation had given him. It embarrassed him to admit that he had accepted a kiss from Russia, so he pushed away those thoughts for the moment. "I guess I don't know, either. But seriously, what's up with you and Russia?"

"Nothing... He's just, I dunno, a lonely guy. I gave him a little bit of my awesome attention, and now he's craving it."

"'Attention'?" Canada inhaled sharply. "What did you do?"

"I, uh, went over to his house a few times and had dinner with him."

"Eh?" Canada was baffled.

_He threatened me_, was what America wanted to say, but he couldn't lie to his brother while he was looking so painfully confused. "Because he asked me to."

"Are you guys forming a secret alliance? England will—"

"—No, we're not." America was firm and serious when he denied the accusation that bubbled up from his brother. "There is nothing going on, at least not politically. He's just a seriously lonely dude, and I spent some time cheering him up. His union just broke up, after all. I'd never seen someone so depressed."

"I thought you'd be happy aboot that. He is... _was_ your enemy, after all."

America made a noise of agreement, and then silence descended upon them.

"By the way, someone delivered a letter to me when I was coming to the meeting... I didn't open it, but it looks important." Canada fished it from the inside of his brother's borrowed coat and presented it. It was a simple envelope with fancy script addressed to America, but no return address was found.

"Oh, thanks. Let's take a look." America peeled the envelope open and snatched the stationary from inside of it. It was one thin piece of fragrant paper, folded a few times to fit within. He unfolded it and let the unfamiliar handwriting enter his mind. When the words finally registered, he froze, a cold blade of dread stabbing through him.

Canada became concerned with the look on his brother's face and nudged him. "What's wrong, Alfred? What is it?"

Wordlessly, he handed it to his look-alike and slouched.

"'_When you return home, I will be waiting._'" Canada read aloud, brow furrowed. "I wonder who it's from... Sounds awfully threatening."

"Who would threaten me?" America growled. He turned the discarded envelope in his hands slowly.

"Russia, eh?" he supplied in a matter-of-fact voice. "I bet he has an entire plan for destroying you."

"You can stop acting like me. Nobody's around," the American scolded jokingly, but humor didn't color his words.

"You're really going to defend him? I wouldn't put it past him for a second."

"Yeah... uh, hey, do you have my cellphone? I seem to have lost it." America was desperate to change subjects.

At the mention of the cellphone nestled within his pocket, he sheepishly handed it over. "Your boss called."

"Oh? Did you answer it or somethin'?"

"Yeah, and I soothed things over with him aboot that enormous bill they received. But he kind of heard Russia talking to me..."

"Russia talked to you?" America shot him a questioning look. "When, where? What'd he say?"

"He didn't say much..." Canada coughed into his fist, and his face flushed a cherry red. "...He mostly just kissed me."

"WHAT?" America screamed, staring at his brother as if he didn't recognize him. "What the fuck? Why?!"

"I have no idea!" he replied, covering his face in shame. "I was on the phone with your boss, explaining the whole alcohol thing, and then Russia came up to me, told me he missed me—quite loudly so your boss could hear, by the way—and kissed me. I think the boss might be rather confused, eh?"

America stuttered, blushing. He didn't look at his call history for fear of seeing just how many he missed. "Did he call you 'America'?"

Canada nodded. "He must have assumed I was you. And here I thought you told me nothing was going on between the two of you..." he trailed off, sounding disappointed and distrustful.

"Nothing is going on between us, Mattie. _Nothing._ I have no idea why he would kiss me—you," he insisted. "Don't you believe me when I say I'm just as confused?"

"You seemed flustered when you told me that before, and frankly, you still do. So I'm unsure."

"Mattie..."

"Listen, if something is going on between you two, it's none of my business. You're allowed to have personal relations with other countries; nobody ever said we couldn't. But if he's making subtle threats to you without even having the decency to sign his name, you have to be wary. If you let him get too close to you, he could turn on you in a split second, and you wouldn't be expecting it. Maybe that's his plan, maybe it's not. Maybe the letter didn't even come from him, but how are we to know?"

"I know, I know. I understand everything you're saying. I don't intend to spend any more time with Russia than I have to. It was just a small occurrence so I could show him some sympathy for his situation."

Canada hummed. "All right, I believe you. I'm not particularly hungry, so I think I'll just go back into the meeting room and wait for everyone else, eh. Oh, and... I'd rather that we switched places. I'm completely drained, and I'd rather just sink into my seat and disappear for a bit. I hope you don't mind."

"Nah, that's fine. Let's switch back."

They began exchanging articles of clothing.

"I'm glad you care, bro. I'm nervous about the letter, but I won't let it get to me. After a few more days, we'll be allowed to go back home, and I think I might just stop by your country for a visit."

"That's fine." Canada smiled warmly and held his arms out expectantly.

America thought he was asking for a brotherly hug but realized with a guilty, hurt expression that he wanted his pet bear back. "Do... do I have to?"

"Yes, brother. Give me my bear."


	7. VII: In Russia's Defense

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter VII: In Russia's Defense**

_America makes plans to visit his old friend Lithuania._

* * *

"I regret to inform you that since America decided to take two days out of the conference to give his inane presentation, we are forced to extend it a few more days more in order to relay all of the information to you before we can go home," England informed them with a shake of his head. He shuffled a few of his papers on top of the table before bending down to consult quietly with Germany.

America sheepishly sunk down into his chair to avoid agitated looks that stabbed at him in all directions. He sincerely hoped that it wouldn't ruin his chances of snagging an invitation to go out for the evening. He wasn't feeling like being cooped up in his hotel room for the rest of the night. Even if England wouldn't relent on his own and ask him to join the group, he wouldn't be able to resist America's pleading looks and affectionate touches. He was manipulative, and it served him well.

He turned his head away from England to stare out one of the ceiling-length windows of the conference room idly. He noticed Russia seated near the opposite end of the table out of the corner of his eye and resisted the urge to look directly at him. _That'll only encourage him_, he mused stubbornly. _He might do more than just kiss me... or my brother... next time we're alone..._ He gasped out loud at his thoughts and accidentally kicked France, who was seated across from him.

The Frenchman, thinking it was a ploy to get his attention, merely winked in response.

America flushed in embarrassment. Thoughts of Russia being much too close to him assaulted his mind. It was suddenly stiflingly hot in the room, and he flew from his chair and out the door, ignoring England's furious screams. "I have to talk to my boss, England! Very important!" he lied through gritted teeth just as the doors slammed closed. He slowed his pace considerably when he knew he wouldn't be followed and shoved his hands into his pockets. He felt guilty for causing his ex-guardian so many problems, and he stared at the ground, allowing his feet to take control. Soon enough, he was below the cloudy gray skies and tracing the ridges of the bricks below him with his eyes when they peeked out from under the several inches of snow.

He didn't know where he was going or what he was going to do when he arrived, but the chilly breeze calmed him in the meantime. His view darted up to browse some Russian stores through their windows, chuckling at himself. He was only mildly interested in the clothing on display; however, when he crossed the windows to the next store, he perked up when he noticed a particular scarf that was wound around the standing mannequin several times and trailing to the ground. His eyes followed its length. Despite how upset he was with Russia, he couldn't help but note that it looked very similar to the one the towering nation regarded as his most prized possession. This one, though, was so much cleaner, whiter, and pristine in appearance. The ends weren't frayed from so many decades of use, and it didn't have tears within the flawless stitching.

Pushing it to the back of his mind, America continued his casual stroll. He wondered how long he could avoid the meeting without consequence. The vibrating of his phone made him pause as he brought it up to eye level. 'Boss' flashed at him menacingly. He gulped and mentally prepared himself for the inevitable onslaught of yelling.

"H-hey there. America speaking."

* * *

"Amerika, you have been missing many meetings," Russia informed him when he felt the smaller country approaching him from behind. He turned his head to regard him with a small smile. "This is unexpected."

"Yeah, uh, shit happens." America laughed and fell into step with Russia's long strides the best he could. "Listen, I got a call from my boss a while ago."

"Oh?" Russia stopped walking and turned to face the other man. He stared down at him curiously. "How does it concern me?"

"Your boss and him have been talking... Apparently he found out that we've been hanging out lately, and he's wondering what it's all about." It was an understatement, but he would get to the finer details when it was appropriate.

The smile tightened noticeably. "Does it not irritate you when others, ah, stick noses in business that is not their own?"

"Mmm. Even my brother thought we were forming a secret alliance or something, man. Just wait, he'll tell England, and suddenly the entire world will think we're planning on taking over the world. _Amerissa_."

"Your brother." Russia's smile grew. "For what reason would he have to believe we are forming an alliance?"

America felt a few countries approach them and grew uncomfortable. He gripped Russia by the sleeve of his coat and led him to a secluded room before they could be overheard. He shut the door behind them and took a breath. "You knew Mattie was being me. You even called me 'America' when I was pretending to be him. Remember?"

"When was this?" He giggled.

"Oh, c'mon, Russia... You knew it was me. Mattie told me everything. You called him 'America,' but then you... you... you kissed him. He thinks we're _fooling around_."

"It was an innocent gesture. I greet those I like with a kiss. However, Germany did not seem to agree," he trailed off thoughtfully, leaning against the wall.

"So you really thought Mattie was me yesterday?" America was doubtful.

"Convincing," he agreed with a nod of the head, "but nyet. There are many noticeable differences, even if he tried to imitate your manner of speech. Least of all being this," Russia pointed out, leaning forward to twine Nantucket around his finger.

America stared at him wide-eyed and disentangled himself. "Only you would notice a piece of hair missing."

"I cannot play with air and receive same reaction."

"Right, well... back to my original point. I didn't really know what to tell my boss except that we aren't doing anything political in secret. You might want to call your own boss and assure him that we're not doing anything risky."

"I will get around to it, da."

America prepared to turn around and exit the room, but he hesitated. "You... like me?"

"Hm?" Russia toyed with his scarf shyly and ducked his head into the soft fabric around his neck.

"You said you kiss people you like. Do you like me... or do you actually like my brother instead?"

"I am insulted, Amerika. I do not even know your brother."

"But you still kissed _him,_" America insisted impatiently, and the thought crossed his mind that the issue hadn't been part of the reason he began speaking to Russia. Still, he persisted in trying to get an answer that satisfied him.

"And you see how delightfully it worked out? You came to _me_." Russia smiled happily as if realizing this for the first time.

Feeling a little disturbed, America reached out to turn the doorknob. Yet another thought stopped him from leaving. "I also got a letter recently. Right after you kissed my brother, in fact."

Russia blinked at him, motioning for him to continue.

"It sounded threatening, and it wasn't signed. Didn't have a return address, either."

"What did it say?"

"It said that someone would be waiting for me when I went home." America felt almost guilty, but he continued, "Mattie thinks you sent it to scare me."

"That is curious, seeing as how I did not send it. I do not know who did. However, if this is your way of inviting me over to your house, I will accept." Russia appeared satisfied by the way America gaped at him in horror. "It was a condition of our game a few days ago, but Belarus interrupted... Technically, I allowed you to find me, but you still did. I believe I must visit you in your country."

"C'mon, that game was, as you said, interrupted. It ended the instant she entered your house and forced you to come out of your hiding spot."

"Do you not want me to visit you?" Russia inquired abruptly and frowned. He tensed, shifting his weight on the wall he was still leaning against.

"I... I... uh... no, that's not it..." America stammered at the way Russia's happy aura began diminishing. He looked at Russia's clenched hands, almost expecting to see a glint of silver within them.

"Then I will visit." His tone left no room for argument.

The blond man nodded, knowing that no decent part of him would allow himself to deny the hopeful violet eyes that were getting closer and closer to his own, and he was astonished when a pair of lips descended upon his almost too lightly to even feel them. Russia pulled away an inch to murmur, "I will look forward to it."

Suddenly, America was alone, frustrated at his boss and brother for intruding, curious about the unclaimed letter, and reluctantly wishing the tall man hadn't ended the kiss so soon.

* * *

Should he believe Russia about the letter, or entertain Canada's thoughts about a ploy to destroy him? America was in a near-daze from the conflicting thoughts swimming around in his head when the meeting started up again after the hour of lunch. On one hand, he never knew when Russia was telling the truth because everything seemed like a game to him. On the other hand, Russia had no reason to lie to him about someone waiting for him at his house because the man had invited himself over. He knew his brother cared deeply about his well being but he couldn't deny that the last few times he had been with Russia alone and miles away from all forms of civilization, he hadn't been threatened in the least bit.

If Russia had the patience to pretend to be his friend so he could stage an elaborate plan to hurt him, America was impressed despite being the target.

He sipped at his glass of beer and mindlessly listened to the chattering of inebriated nations around him while circling the rim of his cup with one finger. With so much on his mind, America found it almost impossible to enjoy himself in the bar, which was unheard of. Even England seemed worried despite how annoyed he was from all the interruptions and embarrassment he had suffered through due to his ex-colony's actions. America ducked his head to hide his face from the intense scrutiny coming from beside him. "Stop staring."

"I'm just worried, America. You have not been yourself lately. Even a pissed monkey would be able to tell that you have something on your mind," England informed him with a crinkle between his eyebrows. He disinterestedly toyed with his own glass while France casually draped an arm around his shoulders to listen in. "What happened to that little boy that would come crying to me about every little thing?"

America snorted. "I don't even remember any of that." He drank from his cup once again. "There's nothing wrong, dude. Just anxious to finish up this damn conference and return home. I can only imagine the stack of papers waiting for me..."

England stared at him wide-eyed. "Oh, dear, there is most certainly something wrong. Who are you, and where did you put the real America? The America I know wouldn't give a half a mind to responsibility with an endless supply of alcohol right in front of him."

America chuckled humorlessly. "Don't worry, when I drink a little bit more, I'll be back to my good ol' self in no time."

"You know, we are not dumb," France spoke up, twirling a finger in England's blond locks and peering at him through dark lashes. "We have noticed you and zhe Russian... spending time with each ozher."

"Quite. You think we don't watch when you interact outside of the conference room. Even inside of the conference room, the air between you two is thick with tension."

"Mattie told you something, didn't he?" America narrowed his eyes.

"Whether Matthew told me anything or not is beside the fact. It wasn't long ago that you and Russia were having staring contests in the middle of speeches. It was back in Berlin."

"In fact, zhat was when I first noticed zhat you two were acting differently."

"What do you want me to say? That I'm forming an alliance behind your back?" America shot at England in annoyance. "That's not what's going on. I don't see why you are taking such a damn interest in it, anyway. What, with you and France being so obvious..."

England looked insulted. France looked amused.

"I know you guys have something going on that you aren't telling everyone, and it probably has nothing to do with politics, right?" At France's nod, he continued, "Is it hard to believe that I might be hanging out with Russia as a person, instead of a country? We have two roles, after all... Why would we have emotions if we aren't supposed to form friendships? Hell, it might even be good having Russia around. He's a powerful dude."

England frowned and pondered the information for several moments.

They all took drinks from their beverages and stared into space, listening as a fight broke out behind them.

"You just want to be... friends with Russia?"

"I didn't at first," America admitted grudgingly. He curled his fist under his chin and propped his head up so he could observe his ex-guardian and France. "I started hanging out with him more and more, and I realized that even though everyone is afraid of him, he's not actually that scary. He's just lonely, and with the dissolution of the Soviet Union, he's even more lonely than ever. Hell, all that guy has are his sisters, and one of them is a fucking psychopath bent on marrying him. It makes me feel sorry for him."

The two older men made noises of agreement.

"All right, I'll admit defeat for now. But if you cause any more distractions or interruptions during important meetings or embarrass me any further, I won't be so understanding," England threatened with a flush. "Honestly, that whole presentation about aliens was completely moronic."

America laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. "You weren't even a little entertained?"

"I have to say, the second day you seemed so much more passionate about it," England mused. "It was like you were a completely different person. Usually you are just stupid, but that day, you were stupidly passionate. If that makes any sense, that is."

"Oui, I noticed it, too. It was like you put your all into it, even zhough everyone was laughing at you."

Nervous, America stuttered, "Well, I had a lot to say, and I wanted to try to get others to enjoy it." He swiveled around on his barstool to survey the bar so he could avoid the conversation they were creeping into. He didn't want them to find out about Canada's joyride in his identity because as far as he could see, they got away with murder. The only person who had noticed the difference enough to realize had been Russia, and America knew he wasn't one for gossip.

The other countries of the world mingled with Russian civilians who were curious about all of the different foreigners. Most of them were unable to communicate with the same language, but it didn't stop them from sharing tables and drinking their troubles in vodka. They paid no mind to the American man that was staring at them all idly.

America squinted through the smokey, dim atmosphere at a group of young men that had just entered the bar. _Hey, I know them_, went through his mind. To his drinking companions, he said, "I just saw someone I know. I'm gonna go say 'hi' to them." Without waiting for any replies, he jumped from his seat and approached the men that were uneasily looking around for a free table.

"O-oh, hey, America!" Lithuania greeted enthusiastically when the American stopped next to them. He reached out and shook his offered hand warmly. "It has been so long."

"Almost a century, right?" America inquired with a smile. "Ever since you went to the Ruski's house, I haven't been able to really talk to you."

"R-right..." Lithuania trailed off uncomfortably, "but that will not be happening again. We, the Baltic countries, are now free and completely independent."

"How have things been since your independence?" America led them to the nearest empty table and shook Latvia and Estonia's hands before they all took their seats. Latvia flipped through a drink menu while Estonia observed the numerous bar patrons.

"Wonderful. Things have never been better, and they will continue to be better. We are no longer afraid of saying or doing the wrong things and upsetting Mister... Russia. And now we can even have guests in our homes without asking for permission. Speaking of which," Lithuania said, perking up, "how would you like to visit me tomorrow afternoon for some tea? We can, how you say, catch up on old times. Or even new times, if you would prefer."

"I'd like that. I'll definitely visit you tomorrow as soon as the meeting is over."

"Great." Lithuania smiled brightly at his old friend. "I am looking forward to it. Now, let us sample some of that vodka we have heard so much about."

America wrinkled his nose. "I'll stick with my beer, thanks."


	8. VIII: Tea, Cake, and a Scarf

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter VIII: Tea, Cake, and a Scarf**

_America visits Lithuania and later spends time with Russia for his birthday._

* * *

"I am so glad you could make it," Lithuania greeted warmly, rushing forward to grasp America's arms and pull him into a tight hug. He felt America tense up at the sudden physical contact, but he was relieved to feel it drain away almost instantaneously. He smiled widely when the embrace was returned just as enthusiastically from his visitor. "I cannot tell you how much I have missed you."

America blushed, patting Lithuania's back. He eyed the hotel room from over a green-clad shoulder. "It has been such a long time. Remember the old days when you used to work for me after World War I? We used to chat about everything."

"I confided in you about everything," Lithuania mused, turning his face to the side and listening to the steady beat of America's heart below his tan military uniform. "You sheltered me when I had nothing. You were my one true friend. We would spend so many hours of the night in your study, sipping at your favorite beer and discussing anything we could think about."

"Hey, don't worry about it, dude." America chuckled. "That's me, the hero. Just doing my job helping the rest of the world."

Lithuania pulled back slightly to stare up at the blond man. "But it was more than that, right? We were actual friends."

"Yes, we... were. You were always around, and it was fun to see how far I could push you, even if it meant you wearing woman's housekeeper clothing."

Lithuania smirked at that. "If I may be so bold, I might even go far enough as to say you loved seeing me dressed as a woman."

"Oh, c'mon..." America turned his head away while his cheeks heated up. "Is this why you invited me over? To make me uncomfortable about the stupid things we did back then? I was probably drunk for most of it, anyway..."

"No, I do not mean to make you uncomfortable. I was merely reminiscing. Of course, it has been nearly a century since then, so our feelings have changed. I have been molded by Russia so carefully into a house servant, that I am having trouble readjusting to life on my own. I want to have personal relationship of my own, and I have decided to start with you. So long have I been with only Latvia and Estonia as companions. Your passion and fire, your independence, it is all so encouraging."

"Was life with him really that bad?" America felt guilty about shifting the conversation towards Lithuania's tormentor, but he was genuinely curious about how the intimidating country had behaved around other people.

"Well..." Lithuania hesitated. "Here, let me get the tea started, and we can talk. We do not have to stand in the doorway for the entire visit." He released America and gestured for him to enter his hotel room. Once he had started cooking the tea at a small stove, he elaborated, "Russia is... an interesting person, as I am sure you have noticed."

America nodded, drumming his fingertips on the surface of the table he was seated at.

"I like to think of him as a large child that does not know when enough is enough. He can be selfish and unnecessarily cruel when he finds something disagreeable towards him."

"I get the same vibe."

"He is such a big and strong country... the biggest and strongest, I might add. He has been through so much in his very long life. Perhaps too much bloodshed and war have torn at his fragile mentality... I cannot help but pity him for the things he has seen. At any rate, when he wants something, he will take it with any amount of force necessary. I do not think that subtlety is his preferred method."

"Has he ever _really_ hurt you?"

"Are you kidding?" Lithuania was incredulous. He stood up to fumble with the teapot. "I do not think I would have enough time during this visit to go into detail, but yes, Russia has been too rough with me in the past. Latvia and Estonia, too. I think he viewed us as playthings. When we were not cleaning his house, cooking his food, restocking his vodka, or doing his laundry, we were cowering in fear, wondering when the next time Russia would become too drunk and unhappy to be calmed. Still, we held up under his hardships." Lithuania poured them cups of tea and offered America sugar cubes with his.

"So what made you want to gain independence? I mean, other than the fact that you guys were unhappy with how you were being treated."

"Well, Ukraine and Belarus actually gained their independence months before us. Ukraine had mentioned the idea to us during one of her visits, which was shortly after... Russia drank a little too much vodka. I do not want to go in depth into the incident, but it was the worst side we had seen of Russia. After it had happened, Ukraine told us that she and her boss had decided that it was for the best if they separated from the Soviet Union, and that was the last I saw of her. Belarus," his cheeks became faintly rosy at the mention of her name, "was gone the next day by order of her own boss, but she could not stay away for long. Her love for Russia extends far past the boundaries of mere family."

"Yeah, I got that part..." America interjected a little too harshly, squeezing his mug of tea.

"We were so inspired by their independence; Ukraine sent us a few letters while we were trying to gain independence for ourselves. She described in such vivid detail the smell of her crops, the refreshing feeling of the summer breeze, and the lush green grass below her feet. It was cruel and teasing, for all we knew of was dead trees and never-ending, bitter snow. So... many months later, we are here, happily independent and making names for ourselves while attending the world conference. It was more than I could have hoped for."

"I'm happy for you, dude. Glad you're enjoying your independence. I remember when I got mine..." he trailed off thoughtfully. He shook his head before Lithuania could pry. "I don't want to talk about it, though. Kind of painful; I know England still thinks about it, too."

"Mm, I bet. Out of all the things we talked about back then, I could never get the full story behind it out of you," he teased before gulping down his tea. "That is fine, though. I want to become better friends with you, and we will have plenty of time to chat. Besides, having such an incredible country on my side will be nothing but beneficial."

America smirked. "I see how it is. You only want me for my power."

"If there is one thing I admire about you big countries, it is your commanding presence and confidence. You and Russia are such strong nations; there are none that would gladly stand up against you, you know. The days I have spent around the smaller countries during the conferences have taught me much about the general opinion."

"Oh, great, I'm being compared to Russia," he joked sarcastically. "Here I am, trying to be the hero, and instead everyone thinks I'm a giant, socially-awkward sociopath."

"I did not say that," Lithuania shot back. He swirled the remainder of his tea around his mug while avoiding America's intense stare. "Nobody thinks you _are_ Russia. They just think you are strong like him. It is difficult for us to determine just who would win a real war between the two of you."

"Well, don't get excited. I'm not going to challenge him just to prove a point. My boss would shit himself at the idea." He chuckled, drinking the last of his sweetened tea. "Russia would much rather make dinner for me, instead of nuking me."

Lithuania's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "I apologize. I do not follow you."

"Oh, uh... heh, heh. Funny story."

"Does it have anything to do with the way you two have been acting during the conferences?"

"Ugh, this _again?_" America slapped a palm to his forehead and rubbed at his temples. "I give the guy a little of my awesome attention, and suddenly everyone is suspicious of our _real_ intentions."

"Would you rather I entertain the ideas of gossip?" Lithuania gazed at him with an innocently threatening expression. He curled his hands under his chin and propped himself up on his elbows, leaning forward eagerly. "What exactly is going on between you and Russia? I thought you two hated each other... Russia would always act funny whenever we mentioned your name around him."

"First of all, nothing is going on between us that anyone should be concerned about. Secondly, I only spent a few evenings with him at his house, during which he'd cook some weird Russian dish for me, and then we'd play hide and seek like children. I kind of figured he was an overgrown child with those game suggestions." He smiled slightly at the laughter that erupted from his friend.

"How is he?" Lithuania sobered up, guiltily lowering his gaze to the tablecloth.

"Physically, emotionally? What?"

"Any details you care to share."

"He acts the same as ever, I'd say. Physically, he's just as healthy and vodka-soaked as ever. I haven't seen a single scratch on him since the Cold War days. Emotionally..." he sighed, resuming the drumming of his fingers on the table, "...he's one lonely dude. I can't imagine being pursued by his freaky-ass sister is helping him cope with you guys leaving him, but he hides it well. I only really noticed there was something wrong the day you guys gained your independence."

"He will recover... right?" He gave America a hopeful look, begging him to give him the appropriate answer.

"Yeah, I think so. He just needs some friends. Maybe I can encourage him to spend some time with other countries so he doesn't suffocate me so much."

"I agree. Russia loves companionship, even if he cannot show it. He does not want to be alone."

America made a noise of agreement and picked at the frayed edge of the tablecloth. Silence descended upon them for several moments while the two men gathered their thoughts and pondered over the new information.

"Oh, that reminds me... I need to send Russia a card for his birthday."

"When's that?"

"Today. His birthday is today."

America furrowed his brow. "I didn't know that. Nobody mentioned it."

"He keeps it to himself. I only found out because of Ukraine. She celebrated it every year, and I am sure she is planning some kind of a party for him today. I suppose I should stand by for an invitation. Though, I am not sure I am ready to face him just yet..."

"Maybe it'll get him out of his depressed state."

"We can only hope. But... anyway... are you leaving today? The conference ended today, so there is no reason for you to stay. I was planning on heading back to my country this evening. My journey will take much less time than yours, of course."

"Nah, I'm leaving tomorrow morning. I hate to admit it, but I like the blankets here."

Lithuania let out a surprised laugh. "America is staying in Russia... because of a blanket? I guess your overwhelming sense of loathing for the snow and chilly temperatures is no match for your love of warm, soft things."

"Yeah, yeah... No matter what you say, I'm still spending the night here and leaving in the morning."

"Is your number still the same? I would like to be able to call, if you do not mind."

"My number's still the same, yeah. I'd like that, buddy."

Lithuania beamed.

* * *

Russia sat at his kitchen table and stared out the window, watching the darkness descend upon the wintry scenery. The trees faded into black nothingness, and the moon was unable to shine through the thick gray clouds. He sat in the silent dimness of his empty house and thought about his precious Soviet Union. It had been his goal to persuade every country to become one with him, so he could create one big family, a union of the world. He would live in a warm place covered with sunflowers as far as the eye could see, and his sisters would be happy and depend upon him. His Baltics would perform upkeep on the house and enjoy his company and guidance, and America would be at his side to provide companionship and affection whenever he needed it. The countries of the world would live peacefully around him and enjoy the greenery and warming rays with him.

It was a daydream he often visited, wishing with every ounce of his being that things had turned out differently. Now his sisters were even more distant than ever, and the Baltic countries refused to even acknowledge him. Sunflowers didn't grow where he lived, and the sun hardly peeked out from behind the clouds. He was feared and viewed as an insane, cruel nation that wished only for world domination. It depressed him considerably whenever he thought about how everything had backfired on him.

His sweet older sister had made it a point to celebrate his nation's birth every year on this day, but he was astonished to discover that she had merely sent a card apologizing profusely. _'My boss has forbidden me from visiting... I am sorry, dear brother.'_ His heart had fallen from his chest when he had read those words. Never in the past had his sister not been present on his birthday. Even Belarus, who would be begging to join him in his bed as a birthday gift, was absent. It was as if everyone had forgotten what day it was.

He had been about to retreat into his study with a case of his best vodka when someone began knocking loudly on his front door. His heart jumped in his chest, startled, but he regained his composure and allowed his feet to carry him to the foyer through the dark. He turned the doorknob and swung the door inwards, peering out curiously at his visitor. When it registered just who was standing on his doorstep with a boxed cake, a wrapped gift, and several cans of beer, he opened his mouth in surprise. "Amerika...?"

"Hey, dude, I heard it was your birthday today. You don't mind if I stop by and give you a few things, do ya?"

Russia shook his head wordlessly and allowed America to pass him and enter his home. He shut the door behind them, plunging them into darkness once again.

"Shit, where's the light? I don't wanna trip over anything."

When Russia had turned a lamp on, the two countries observed each other.

"I thought you'd be a little happier to see me," America teased. "Look, I have cake. I didn't know what kind you'd like, so I just got my favorite combination: chocolate cake with chocolate icing."

"S-spasiba," Russia stuttered, still in a state of shock.

"What's the matter, dude? You look like you've seen a ghost," America inquired uneasily, turning his head to survey the room. "It's too quiet in here."

"Let us go to the kitchen," Russia suggested, holding his hands out to accept the cake and gift that America handed to him. Together, they walked to the kitchen so Russia could properly cut a piece of the cake out for his guest.

"Open my gift." America almost bounced in his seat with excitement. "I think you'll like it."

Once Russia had set the slice of cake in front of America, he turned his attention to the gift. He smiled lightly at the snowflake wrapping paper and tugged at the bow keeping it together. When it had fallen open, revealing the gift America had chosen for him, he stared at it for a few tense seconds.

"Heh, I didn't know what to get you, but I saw this a few days ago. It's an almost perfect match, right? I mean, it's not as nice as the one you currently have because your sister made it, but I figured it was a nice gesture."

Russia wrapped the scarf around one hand and traced the knitting with a finger. He fumbled with it in a childlike wonder. It was so clean and new compared to the one that he was wearing. He felt conflicted at the decision now presented to him: should he continue wearing the scarf his sister had made for him back when they were a loving family, or should he replace it with the one America had gifted to him? It sent a stab of frustration through him.

"I know what you're thinking," America spoke up through a mouthful of chocolate cake. "You don't have to wear it. I know that the one your sister made means a lot to you. I just thought you'd like an extra scarf in case anything ever happened to it. Don't stress yourself out over it, okay? I just saw it and thought of you, so I had to get it."

"Thank you, Amerika," Russia spoke quietly, pressing the scarf against his face. It was incredibly soft, and it radiated a slight warmth, as if America had been wearing it shortly before gifting it to him. He could detect a hint of America's preferred cologne on it. The thought that America had been wearing a scarf that he associated with him filled him with a strange sensation.

"No problem, dude. Glad you like it."

"Why are you here?" Russia inquired, taking a seat opposite the American. He watched him finish up the last bites of his cake with a noisy smack of his lips. A sigh of satisfaction escaped the blond man.

"I heard it was your birthday, so I decided to stop by. I guess I missed the party, huh? Everyone's gone."

"'Party'?" he echoed, confused.

"What, you didn't have a party today?"

"Nyet. After the conference, I came home. I have been alone since."

A wave of pity crashed over America. He swallowed thickly and toyed with his fork. "I'm sorry..."

"Do not be."

"I guess... with all the excitement lately... everyone just kind of forgot?"

"I do not know, but it does not matter. It is just a day. There are many more."

America knew that Russia would not budge on the matter, so he relented. "Well, I'm not going to abandon you. You're stuck with me for at least another few hours, so I hope you're ready for some extreme birthday fun. I'm known as a party animal back home, after all."

"I am grateful." Russia smiled sweetly at the American and reached out to grip his hand. Warmth filled his face, and he cuddled his new scarf against his cheek.

America's heart fluttered from bringing a smile back to the depressed nation, and he beat it down in frustration. _I'm just being a nice guy. He's lonely, and he needs a buddy. That's all,_ he struggled to convince himself. _We're just friends._


	9. IX: Home Sweet Chaos

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter IX: Home Sweet Chaos**

_America returns home and is bombarded with phone calls, and Canada and America travel to Germany._

* * *

The plane ride home bright and early in the morning gave the weary and slightly hungover man a chance to sleep off his troubles a little longer, so America buckled himself into his reclining seat and with a pillow and blanket. His eyes drifted closed gratefully. He thought about the events of the last day, and a faint smile crept onto his face. Not only had he regained an old friend, proving just how solidly their friendship had withstood so many decades of no contact, but he also saved Russia from an evening alone drinking every bottle of vodka he owned. _All in a day's work for the hero._ He yawned and felt a bubble of pride in his chest. _And England says I should stop butting into other people's problems. What does he know?_

He thought briefly of the letter that was packed into his suitcase, but he pushed it away forcibly. If someone is waiting for him, he would deal with it when he got there. There wasn't a single country that frightened America, except for Russia _sometimes_, and even that was becoming less and less frequent the more time he spent with him. Reminding himself of the unknown letter made him sit up in surprise when a sudden thought flashed bright and clear. "Oh, shit... I'm supposed to visit Canada... but Russia was also going to visit."

He slapped his forehead. He had no idea when he was supposed to visit his brother, but he knew that Russia would be arriving in a matter of days, after he took care of a sudden onslaught of workload that had been presented by his boss and family-related issues. He hadn't said much about it, but he offered a few words about it to sate America's curiosity.

_"I need to arrange for help for my little sister. She is very sick. There is a hospital for those like her nearby..."_

As much as he detested Russia's psycho-sister, he had offered his deepest sympathies. As far as he could tell, the girl had a mental illness. From what little he had interacted with her—being chased with a knife—he couldn't say that his diagnosis would be an accurate one. But who was to say?

America decided not to keep himself awake with any more of the multitude of thoughts that were swimming through his mind, and he began to relax his mind and tense muscles. Before long, he was asleep and enjoying himself in dreamland.

* * *

When America had entered the silent house, he had fully expected to be assaulted, finally putting his mind at ease about the mysterious letter. However, when he was greeted by nothing, he grew even more confused. He proceeded to check every room of his house for someone hiding. His search turned up empty. There was nobody here. _Maybe he or she will show up within a day or so... In which case, I doubt I'll stick around here for very long. A country can't just hide away in someone else's house forever. If it's even a country that is threatening me._

As soon as he had put his travel supplies away, America realized just how massive his workload had become in his absence. _Damn, doesn't that man know I'm a busy guy?!_ He shifted idly through some of the papers that mostly required his signature and sighed loudly. It would take him the rest of the day to finish half of these stacks. He shook his head and retreated to his couch. He pulled out his cellphone and stared at the list of calls he had missed while he had been sleeping on the plane.

Just as he debated on calling some of the numbers back to see what they wanted, his phone began ringing.

"Hello? America speaking."

"Finally you answer!" England retorted. "I need your answer about the text message I sent you. What will it be?"

"Message? Uhh... I haven't read any yet. Let me pull that up." America had opened his message inbox on his phone, when it had been shoved away and replaced with a waiting call screen. "Hold on, England. Someone else is calling."

"No, do not put me on hold! Do _not_—"

America cringed. No doubt he would have to get a hearing aid after the yelling he would endure once he returned to England's call. Still, he turned his attention to the new person without reading the identity. "America speaking. What's up?"

"Hey, Alfred! It's Matthew. I was just calling to ask when you would be visiting. You're home now, right?"

"Yeah, I just got home a few hours ago."

"Oh... maybe I should wait a little bit, then? Let you get settled before making you get back onto a plane?"

"Nah, it's fine, bro. I just need to pack some clothing and whatnot. Will you be making something tonight?" His stomach released a particularly loud gurgle of hunger at the thought of his brother's food.

"If you really want me to, I can make dinner. I know how much you enjoy it."

"I love your cooking, Mattie! I'll definitely be there tonight. I'll get my things together."

"Great! See you then, Al. Bye."

When they hung up, America returned to his ex-guardian, who was fuming in anger. "Sorry 'bout that... It was Mattie."

At the mention of the younger country, England's frustration subsided slightly. "Oh, well, how is he, then?"

"He's fine. We were making plans for me to visit him tonight."

"Really? You just got home. I can only imagine how much work you have to finish, you lazy git."

"Ouch, you just had to mention it, huh? Yeah, it's massive. But he's my brother, and I already promised I would visit him. I can't just neglect him."

"And you _also_ cannot just neglect your obligations as a superpower."

America opened his mouth to respond sarcastically, but a beep in his ear silenced him. He pulled the phone away to look at the screen. "Sec', got another call waiting."

"Who are you, Mr. Popularity—?"

Without waiting for England to finish speaking, he had switched over to the waiting person. He struggled to keep a sigh out of his voice when he asked, "Hello? This is America."

"Oh, no, is it too soon to call? You seem annoyed."

Identifying the voice as Lithuania's, he smiled faintly. "Am I so easy to read, even over the phone?"

"I know you well. When did you arrive home?"

"I just got home a few hours ago. I've actually been on the phone for the last fifteen minutes with two different people. You're my third call."

"Busy today?"

"You have no idea..." America muttered. "England is busy lecturing me on the other line. Thank you for saving me."

Lithuania laughed. "For once, I am the hero."

Returning the chuckle, America inquired, "What are you calling for? Any particular reason?"

"I just wanted to make sure I had the right number before I started sending text messages to someone I did not know."

"Good plan. Well, yep, this is the right number. As much as I hate delaying the inevitable, I guess I have to find out what England wanted. Call me again another day, dude?"

"Yes, I will. Oh, that reminds me. Did you get a—"

"Wait... I have another call waiting... Give me a moment." America stabbed at the button on his phone to receive the call that had interrupted him. He felt too frustrated to even offer a proper greeting. "America here."

"Privyet, Amerika."

America perked up slightly at the voice on the other line. "Oh, hey, Russia. What's up?"

"I was calling to reschedule my visit to your country." He sounded unhappy.

"That's all right, dude. You can visit any time, you know. I was actually going to call you and talk to you about it. I promised my brother I would visit him, so I'm not going to be home for a while. How's your sister doing?"

"She is unwell," Russia sighed, "but she is in hospital now. It took doctors several hours to restrain her so they could give her medicine."

"That sucks. But I hope she gets better."

"Da, I do, as well."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"I will call you about my visit another time. Do svidaniya, Amerika."

"See ya, man." America hung up the call to Russia and nearly forgot about the two other people waiting to talk to him. The interruption of his fifth call had him nearly yelling at the poor person on the other line, "Yes, what do you want?!"

"Ve! Ciao, I have exciting news!"

Recognizing the chipper man on the other line as Northern Italy, America became suspicious. "Did you mean to call Canada, Italy? This is America."

"No, I meant to call you..." Italy trailed off, confused. "I am calling to invite-a you to a party at Germany's house this-a Thursday! I will-a be making pasta, and I will-a order all of the best wine, and I will make-a delicious sweets, and—"

"Breathe, man!" America exclaimed when it appeared that Italy was going to continue his ramble.

"I invited England, France, my brother, Prussia—"

"—Yeah, a lot of people. Gotcha. This Thursday, you said?"

"Sì! Will you-a be able to attend?"

_Today is Tuesday... That will only give me one day with my brother after this evening._ Still, America's mouth moved on its own when he replied, "Sure. Germany's house? Should I bring anything?"

"No, I will-a take care of everything!"

"All right. See you—" America pulled away from his phone to stare at its screen, bewildered. "Oh, it died. I guess I should have charged it on the way home." He shrugged to himself and tossed his phone to the side. He would call England and Lithuania back another time. For now, he had to pack so he could start the short plane ride to his brother's country. When he passed his pile of work that seemed to taunt him, he shook his head. He would definitely take care of it after the party.

* * *

"Hey, bro!" America dropped his suitcase on the ground and rushed forward to envelope his look-alike in a bone crushing hug and squashing Kumajirou in the process. "You smell like maple syrup. I love that stuff." He inhaled his brother's scent deeply.

"It's like an aphrodisiac for you," Canada mused, accepting the other country's embrace. "Better not let anyone find out aboot your weakness."

Laughing, America retrieved his suitcase and took it into his brother's house. He unpacked his things in the room he had claimed as his own for every visit to Canada, and he rejoined him in the kitchen. "I'm so hungry. What's for dinner?"

"Anything you want, Alfred. Just let me make sure I have the right ingredients." Canada bit the inside of his cheek and smirked, knowing exactly what America was going to request. He had just gone to the store to stock up on syrup and pancake mix.

"Got any pancakes?"

"I do."

While Canada began preparing the meal for the both of them, America leaned against the counter next to him to watch. He relaxed and sniffed at the air. "I've missed this."

"So have I, brother. We used to visit each other all the time."

"Then we grew up and began getting massive piles of paperwork."

"Let me guess... You still haven't done any work?"

"Hell no. I'm trying to enjoy myself. As soon as I got home and realized how much work I had to do, I thought about calling you to see when I could visit."

"Good timing, then," Canada commented idly. He flipped the pancakes to the other side. "I'm glad these are so easy to make."

"So easy to make, but so good to eat."

Canada made a noise of agreement before dividing up the pancakes on two plates. He poured maple syrup over his own and then offered the bottle to America, watching as he poured nearly half of it onto his pancakes. "Hey, don't make a mess."

"I've got it. Don't worry."

Together, they seated themselves on Canada's couch. America fumbled for the remote control and turned the television on. They mindlessly stared at the screen while chewing their food.

"I promised you I would visit," America began slowly after swallowing his pancake. He picked at the edge of the plate when he felt Canada turn to look at him. "I will stay for the evening and tomorrow, but after that I have to go."

"Italy's party, right?"

"How did you—"

"I was invited, too. We can go to Germany together."

"Oh, good. I was hoping I wouldn't be alone there. I just couldn't deny the little guy, you know? He was practically begging me to accept his invitation when he started describing all the awesome food and desserts he would have at the party."

"Did you say something to Italy while you were me? He seems to think we're friends, but I don't remember ever talking to him much."

"Yeah, I forgot about that. We were waiting for you to give that presentation, and I tried to make some friends for you. Italy was surprised to find out you were my brother, and he liked Kumajirou. So I guess you guys are talking more?"

"Yes, he called me when I got home yesterday evening. We spent several hours on the phone. He's a nice guy; I think I'll enjoy having him as a friend."

"With Italy, you also get Germany," America reminded him. "They're inseparable, and if Italy likes you, Germany can't help but agree. I guess Italy's brother will also be on your side, but I don't know the guy that well."

"It's nice to be noticed," Canada spoke up with a grin. "Before, I only had you, France, and England. But now I think I can become friends with a lot of the European nations, and maybe even the Asian ones. Being your brother has given me a reputation I didn't even know existed, and they can't all help but to notice me now."

"Glad I could help."

"How are things with Russia?"

"We're not dating, just to clear that up," America shot at him instantly. "We're just friends. I went over to his house yesterday to celebrate his birthday with him, and I gave him a new scarf."

"Oh, his birthday? Nobody said anything."

"I know. He didn't have a party or anything, either. Nobody visited him. So you can imagine how surprised he was to find me at his door that evening. It felt good when he cheered up. He's been so depressed lately..."

"I'm sorry for teasing you aboot hanging out with Russia."

"It's all right, bro. I just want him to make some friends. That depressed look kills me."

"Yeah. Anyway, I'm really tired tonight. Do you think we can get some sleep after this?"

They finished their meals while watching the television screen, and then they retired to their rooms for the night.

* * *

Wednesday came and went, with Canada and America snuggled up on the couch watching every movie they could find, and suddenly America found himself wearily waking up to a bustling Canada, who had his suitcase open and was busy packing his belongings into it. He sat up on the bed and furrowed his brow. "What are you doing?"

"Italy's party is going to last a few days. You'll want your things with you."

"He didn't tell me that. Why a few days?"

"I don't know. Maybe you could ask him when we get there? Though, if you don't want to stay for the rest of the party, I'm sure he won't mind as long as you sample some of his food before you go."

"I don't mind staying for the whole party. I was just wondering what we could possibly do for several days."

"Mm, the bar, maybe? You seem to love it."

"Who doesn't love the bar, dude?" America jumped out of bed and began dressing with the clothing Canada had laid out for him. "I hope we can go to that club again. It was pretty freaking awesome."

"Club? Oh, the one where you got stalked by a ghost that was making sexual advances on you?" Canada gave him a pointed look, folding up America's shirts and placing them into the suitcase.

"D-don't mention that!" America stuttered, rubbing his arms when goosebumps suddenly appeared on his skin. He glanced around to ensure that nobody was listening in. "You know how I feel about ghosts..."

"I know, I'm sorry. Just don't think aboot it. We're going to have fun."

"If other countries found out that I'm afraid of ghosts, they'd never stop making fun of me or scaring me..." he trailed off. "You, England, and France are the only ones who know. Let's keep it that way."

"I won't tell a single person. Though, I'm surprised you haven't told Russia. Afraid he'll exploit it?"

America felt guilty. "He might... I dunno. I'd just feel more comfortable keeping it to myself."

"If he finds out and tries to tease you with it, I'm going to say, 'I told you so.' At least give me that privilege."

America shook his head in exasperation and helped his brother finish packing his suitcase. When Canada retrieved his own suitcase, which he had packed hours before America had even awoken for the day, they rushed outside to take a taxi to the airport.

_How many times have I been in a plane lately? I just want to stay in one location for once..._


	10. X: Italy's Matchmaking Adventure

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter X: Italy's Matchmaking Adventure**

_Countries gather in Germany for Italy's party, and a bigger scheme is revealed._

* * *

"Alfred, Alfred, wake up! We're almost there!"

America cracked his eyes open and found his brother hovering over him excitedly. He scrubbed at his blurry eyes until the shapes around him became clear, and he recalled that he was travelling on an airplane to Germany. He let out a loud groan, ducking his head away from Canada's eager hands. He couldn't say he shared the enthusiasm. "Great... can you carry me to the hotel? Thanks a lot."

Canada glared. "Italy put a lot of work into this party, you know. You could at least pretend to be excited. Besides, _you're_ the guest of honor."

America blinked sleepily at his look-alike. "I'm the guest of honor? He didn't tell me that."

"Of course he didn't. You don't think he would want to spoil the surprise, do you? Like I just did..." Canada trailed off, laughing nervously. He edged away from his suddenly energetic companion.

"Well, that changes things considerably. If I'm the guest of honor, I should play the part!" America swiped at his bomber jacket to remove invisible specks of dirt, and he adjusted his glasses upon the bridge of his nose. His bright blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "I can't wait to try all of that awesome Italian food, dude."

"I know, it's going to be delicious. Plus, everyone is going to be there."

"_Everyone_, everyone?"

"I'm not sure if we're thinking of the same people, but yes, everyone: all the big countries, and even some of the smaller ones."

"I knew England, France, and his brother are going to be there. He told me so on the phone. Oh, and Prussia."

Canada's smile tightened considerably, and he fiddled with his seat belt. "Don't forget Germany. It is _his_ country, after all."

"Of course. I wonder if Lithuania will be there..."

"Lithuania? Weren't you two friends back in the Depression? I think I remember seeing him at your place."

"Yeah, we were friends. I haven't had a chance to really speak to him over the years, but now that he's independent, I've been hanging out with him."

"Will you introduce me at the party? I don't think I really ever met him."

"Sure, Mattie. If you guys are in the same room, I'll be sure to point him out. When I'm not busy gorging on food or being the center of attention, that is!" America let out a boisterous laugh and leaned back in his seat to peer at his brother's face.

"Oh, Alfred. You never change." Canada smiled fondly and patted his hand. Whatever he was going to say next was interrupted by an overhead announcement that they would be landing in Berlin in five minutes. Once he was sure that the pilot had finished, he continued, "I heard that there are a lot of tourists filling up the hotels in Berlin still celebrating the New Year. Italy had trouble getting enough rooms, so we'll have to double up to have enough."

"What, we're having roommates for our hotels? That's so fucked up!"

"Come on, you know Italy wouldn't pair you or me with people we can't stand. I bet we'll be roomies."

"Yeah, I guess so. Damn, I never share hotel rooms anymore. That's a weird thought." While America wondered who he would be sharing a hotel room with, the airplane began its descent into Germany. Before long, they were allowed to exit and step into the crisp Berlin air. They were greeted not only with the sight of people, people, and more people, but they were also assaulted by a pair of arms that flung themselves around the two startled brothers.

"Ve! It's-a so wonderful to see you! Come, we will-a take you to the party!"

America patted Italy on the back hesitantly, pulling back slightly to inquire sheepishly, "Are we the last ones to arrive?"

Italy shook his head wildly while his curl bobbed from the sudden motion. "No, you are-a one of the first!" He released the two men and gestured for them to follow him to where Germany was standing next to a car.

The German man, even when in the midst of the bustling crowds and celebratory atmosphere, appeared as stoic and serious as ever, though his eyes did soften when he watched his Italian friend approach with the North American brothers. He nodded his head in greeting at them and opened the back door of the car for them. "I vill drive us to vhere zhe party is. It is a large banquet hall vith an attached hotel."

"Sounds awesome," America commented, sliding past Germany into the back of the car. Canada slipped in next to him, and they both belted themselves in, waiting as Italy jumped into the passenger side. With that, the German man loaded the luggage they had left behind in the trunk. Once everything was situated, he started the engine and began driving them farther into the city.

During the drive, the men admired the darkening sky alight with red, orange, and purple with the setting sun. Festive lights and banners adorned the shop fronts, and numerous stalls were set up displaying German delicacies and delights. The people rushed past in groups, smiles on all the flushed faces. Even with the energy that buzzed around them, a slight chill from the wintry month permeated the air.

"Isn't New Years awesome? Canada and I stayed up all night on New Year's Eve to celebrate," America spoke up, flinging an arm around his grinning brother. "Looks like the party is still going here!"

"Ja, sometimes people have trouble realizing exactly vhen a holiday has ended," Germany replied, shaking his head slightly. He watched a man fall over in a drunken stupor while his friends roared with laughter.

"I know exactly what you mean. Like, when people leave Christmas lights on their houses and plastic reindeer in their yard until February."

"Precisely."

"Isn't that what you do, Alfred?" Canada muttered to him, slapping a hand over his mouth to contain his amusement. Despite his low tone, the other two occupants of the vehicle heard him very clearly.

"Shut up! I'm just too busy to take them down every year. It's so much easier to just leave them on all year, right? That way, I'm always prepared when December comes around again." America's ears turned red in embarrassment when the other countries began laughing at him. "Besides, Christmas is fucking awesome. I rest my case."

Germany's chuckles subsided. "Vith all zhe tourists, most hotels are completely full. However, ve have managed to obtain enough free rooms for our guests."

"Oh, yeah. Italy, who am I rooming with?" America poked the man he was speaking to in the back of the head to accompany his words. "Canada, right?"

"I will-a take you to your room when we arrive," Italy promptly informed him, twisting his head around to give America a grin. "When your roommate comes, you will-a find out."

"What's with the suspense? Just tell me!"

"Later!" Italy chimed, returning his attention to the front and ending the conversation.

For the remainder of the drive, Canada smiled in sympathy at his grumbling brother. The pleasant rumble of the engine nearly lulled the sleepy American to sleep, but he was brought out of his doze when Germany announced that they had arrived at their destination while popping the trunk.

America shot out of the car and tilted his head back to survey the outside splendor of the towering building. "It's huge!"

"Vait until you see zhe inside," Germany informed him, nodding his head towards the double doors. He had the suitcases within his grasp. "Come, ve have ozher guests to attend to."

"Why did you guys come to the airport to drive us here?" America asked, falling into step with the tall German. "Do you do that for everyone?"

The man turned his head to smile thinly down at him. "You are zhe guest of honor. Ve had to insure zhat you arrived safely." Before America could reply to the rather cryptic statement, Germany opened one of the glass doors for his three companions that trailed behind him. When they all had entered the exquisite building, he closed the door behind them and smiled at the expressions on the brothers' faces. "Do you like it?"

"Whoa," America breathed. His eyes darted all over the room, unable to take in everything at once. "Everything looks so expensive and incredible! This place must have cost a fortune to rent!"

Germany smirked. "I own it."

America whistled in appreciation. His eyes slid from the sprawling table boasting impressive sets of plates, glasses, bowls, folded napkins, and cutlery before him to the numerous doors that lined the walls. "Where are the others you said were here?"

"I have already-a shown them to their rooms," Italy cut in. He was smiling impossibly wide, blushing from the reactions he was receiving for the room he had put together. "Do you-a like my decorating? Oh, wait until you-a see the food I made!"

"It's beautiful," Canada answered for the both of them. "We are excited to taste the food!"

"Would you-a like to go to your rooms until everyone arrives?"

"Yes, I want to unpack." America retrieved his suitcases from the German man's grip and began tugging it towards a red-carpeted staircase. "The rooms are this way, right?"

"Si, I will show you!" Italy rushed past them and swiftly climbed the stairs while Canada and America followed him slowly, loaded down with bags and luggage.

* * *

"Here-a you are!" Italy announced, taking a key from his enormous key ring and unlocking a large redwood door. He pushed it open and darted in to turn a floor lamp on. The sudden light bathed the contents of the room in a soft white light, revealing two queen-sized bed with velvet red comforters and cream pillows. The floor was covered with a plush white carpet, and there was a dark table with candles and fragrant wood shavings filling silver dishes. "This is where America will-a be staying."

America deposited his bags against the far wall and promptly fell forward onto the bed he had mentally labelled as his own, which was located next to the ceiling-length windows. The curtains were pulled away from the glass, and the bright lights from below shone through.

Italy giggled at America and motioned for Canada to follow him.

"What, we aren't rooming together?" Canada protested. He frowned when his brother's head shot up to stare incredulously at them. He shrugged helplessly when he was ushered out of the room by Italy.

"No, you are-a down the hallway. Come, I will-a show you." The door shut behind them, and silence descended upon the American.

America jumped up from his disheveled bedspread and explored the rest of his new living quarters. He opened drawers, finding pamphlets in German and more candles. He opened a tall wardrobe in front of the beds, discovering a television set behind the doors. He decided to leave them open so he wouldn't forget about it later. There were two doors on either side of the wardrobe, and they both opened into a grand marble bathroom. The bathtub was built into the ground, and the sinks gleamed. It was more exquisite than any other hotel America had the privilege of residing in, especially during the world conferences. He had been so accustomed to sleeping in cheap hotels, that the sight of towels with his name embroidered on them resting upon racks on the walls had almost forced him to forget that he would be sharing this luxury with another person.

However, he drew closer to the other set of towels with suspicion. When his eyes narrowed upon the name that was inscribed upon the towel's fluffy surface, his eyebrows shot into his hairline. _Ivan Braginsky_. It surprised him considerably. Instead of sharing a room with his brother, the more logical choice, he was going to sleep in the same room as Russia. Although he wasn't new to the idea, having spent the night crushed beneath the intimidating man, he was miffed that he wouldn't be staying up late with Canada doing brotherly things together. Maybe he could convince Canada's roommate to switch with him, whomever that may be... The thought nearly ashamed him, thinking back to the kind things Russia had done for him.

America retreated to his bed, leaving both bathroom doors open and the lights on. He forward onto it, delighting in the cushioning beneath him. Everything was so soft. He could fall asleep like this. In fact, he must have drifted off within the bed's plush embrace because he jumped awake at the sound of the door being opened. He was too lazy to even raise his head and offer a proper greeting.

"Here-a you are, Russia!" Italy exclaimed, allowing the tall man to enter in front of him.

Russia immediately noticed his American interest burrowed into his comforter. A small smile curled his lips. "Spasiba, Italy." The man left his own bags against the unoccupied bed and made his way over to America, listening as Italy closed the door and skipped down the hallway to escort his next guests. He sat next to the rumbled form and poked at the blond mess of hair. "Amerika?"

"Hey, Russia," America greeted, his words nearly incoherent due to the cloth pressed against his mouth. He rolled over onto his back to meet Russia's violet gaze.

"Privyet, Amerika. How surprising that we have become roommates." He didn't appear particularly surprised, but Russia wasn't one to openly display his emotions.

"I am just as surprised as you are," America replied, sitting up and propping himself on several pillows. He peered at the other man curiously. "Didn't you have to postpone your trip to my country? What are you doing here?"

Russia flushed and averted his eyes to his hands, which were folded in his lap. "Originally, I was not going to attend, but Italy can be very persuasive. I guess I knew Belarus would be fine in hospital without me. Though, she did nearly tear an orderly's arm off when I told her I would be leaving..."

America sighed. "Yeah, I didn't think I would be staying more than a day here, but damn, this hotel is better than anything I have ever seen. I can't say 'no' to this." He flung his arms out, nearly colliding with Russia's arm, to emphasize his point. "Plus, Italy mentioned that he made a bunch of food. I don't know what he has planned for the next few days, but I can't miss it."

Russia smoothed down his coat. "Da, it is very nice here." A thought came to him. "Oh, have you received any more mysterious letters?"

"No, I haven't. In fact, nobody was waiting for me at my house when I got there. Maybe it was just a prank to try to scare me."

Russia hummed in thought. "Perhaps. Though, you did stay for longer than expected in my country. Maybe whomever was waiting was there but left when you did not return home on time."

America nodded in agreement. "That is a possibility, but I won't let it concern me anymore. Mind if I turn the TV on?"

"Nyet, I do not mind."

The blond man retrieved the remote control from beside the television and powered it on. He mindlessly flipped through the channels for something to catch his eye, relaxing back into his nest of pillows. He hardly noticed when the dip in his bed disappeared, and the Russian retreated back to his bags to dig through them. He sighed quietly and patted his rumbling stomach. "I wonder when Italy will be calling us for dinner. I'm starving!"

"It should not be long. Because of my delayed departure, I was told that I am one of last to arrive." Just as Russia had finished his statement, Italy's voice rang out through the hallway, alerting all of his guests to the fact that dinner was almost ready to be served and everyone should go down to the banquet hall.

"Nice timing!" America shot out of bed, abandoning the remote control on his bedspread and heading towards the door. He paused in mid-step when he noticed Russia finishing removing his sister's scarf, placing it tenderly on the top of his bed in a neat pile, and winding the one he recognized as his birthday gift around his neck. He arched an eyebrow. "Wow, I didn't think you were going to wear it."

"It is very soft," Russia commented idly, tangling a finger in the cloth. His violet gaze locked with America's blue. "Spasiba."

"No problem, dude. Now let's go eat!" America grasped Russia's unoccupied hand and dragged him out the door and down the hallway.

Russia smiled warmly at his eager companion and curled his fingers around the blond's.

* * *

America had released Russia before they reached the bottom of the staircase and surveyed the crowd of countries for those he knew personally. He spotted his brother's blond head near his ex-guardian's and immediately darted towards them, waving in departure at the man he left behind. "Hey, Canada! Hey, England!"

"Hello, America," England greeted politely. He furrowed his brow. "You never called me back, you know."

America untangled himself from Canada's arms and rubbed at the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, my phone died. I got so many calls from a ton of people, and my phone couldn't handle it."

"A likely story." England sniffed, insulted. He was interrupted by a pinch to his backside, to which he gasped loudly. His head swiveled around to glare at France, who had appeared behind him.

The American craned his head when he noticed a brown-haired man descending the staircase. "Hold on. Hey, Lithuania! Over here!" He waved his arms to get the man's attention and grinned at him when he hurried through the other countries to reach his friend.

Lithuania wrapped his arms around America tightly. "I am so glad you made it! I was trying to ask you on the phone the other day if you were going to attend this party, but I guess I have my answer now. Why did you never call me back?"

England coughed loudly into his fist.

"Sorry, my phone died," he replied sheepishly. He adjusted his glasses and returned the friendly hug with equal enthusiasm. "How are you?"

"I am good." Lithuania beamed up at him. "I am sharing a room with Estonia and Latvia, so I am satisfied with that. I was so worried about ending up with..." he lowered his voice fearfully and looked over his shoulder, "...you know."

America laughed nervously, not offering a reply. He leaned over Lithuania to snatch an olive from a tray upon the table. He chewed on it while observing England, France, and Canada. "Oh, Canada, meet my friend Lithuania. Lithuania, this is my little brother, Canada."

Canada reached over to accept the Baltic country's handshake warmly. "Younger only by a few days. Sometimes, I swear I'm the older brother by how much more mature I am." Despite his words, he was smiling with pride. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Canada," Lithuania responded. "It must be wonderful being the sibling of such a friendly and strong nation."

"It is. He is helping me become as friendly and as strong as he. I've always been rather shy, you see." Canada cuddled Kumajirou, a nervous habit of his.

"Yes, I cannot say I've ever noticed you before. You blended in well."

"And you've just gained your independence, right? I saw you at the last world conference."

"Latvia, Estonia, and I have just recently become countries. It has been an exciting process, and I am eager to make as many alliances as I can."

"Well, consider yourself an ally of mine," Canada told him happily. "Anyone who thinks so highly of my brother can't be bad."

America laughed, his cheeks heating up. "Come on, you guys. You're embarrassing me." He smiled and nodded his head towards England, France, and Canada. "Who are you guys rooming with?"

"I am sharing a room with this pervert," England muttered, though his cheeks were decidedly rosy, while France grinned widely and nearly draped himself over the other blond man.

"I'm rooming with Prussia," Canada spoke up, crossing his arms. He turned his head from side to side to insure that the silvery-haired man wasn't listening in. "I don't know what to think aboot it. I've never really talked to him before."

"I don't think anyone knows what to think about that guy," America replied.

"So what about you?" England shot at his ex-colony. "Who are you sharing a room with?"

Embarrassed, the blond muttered, "Russia." He grew annoyed at the pointed looks he received from the three men. "What? It's not like we're sharing a bed! Damn, you guys never give it up."

Lithuania blinked at the new information. "Sharing... a bed?"

"Remember that talk we had about Russia and me having dinner together a few times?" At Lithuania's brief nod, he continued, "Well, these guys like to take it even further and think that I'm having sex with him. I swear, I can't go a single day without being the joke."

The brown-haired man stared at him. The words "sex" and "Russia" hadn't passed through his mind at the same time before this moment, and he was stunned at the experience. He shook his head lightly and blushed. He knew it was wrong of him to ask, but he couldn't resist. "Are you?"

"Am I, _what?_" America glared.

"Are you having sex with Russia?"

"Hell no! Not you, too, Lithuania!" America exclaimed. "Come on, guys... this is seriously getting old."

Lithuania appeared relieved, while the other three men snickered.

"All in good fun," England teased, ruffling the younger man's hair fondly.

"Oui, we are only joking. It is funny to see your expressions when we tease you about it."

"I know you'd much rather have a lady in bed with you," Canada supplied. "You've told me about it more times than I can count."

"Yeah... haha, a lady." America trailed off and stared at the black olive pinched between his forefinger and thumb. He swallowed thickly before popping it into his mouth.

"Will-a everyone take their seats now? I am going to-a serve the food now!"

* * *

Russia had taken his place against the wall when America had rushed off to join the group he was normally with. The man was shy around so many different people, so he was hesitant to follow. Instead, he toyed with his new scarf and inhaled its scent deeply while observing the mingling countries before him. Even if he couldn't spend dinner with America, he still shared a room with the man. While the others were forced to go back to their own rooms, it was inevitable that they would meet again.

Pleased with this revelation, Russia settled back into the wall with a small smile. He continued to watch the American while he conversed with the countries that were closest to him. He tilted his head to the side when America greeted his brother with a passionate hug, wondering if he should try hugging him more often. He seemed to enjoy it when Canada did it.

His heart fluttered almost unpleasantly at the thought of the blond man's arms around him. It seemed whenever he thought of getting close to the man, his heart would do funny things within his chest. He hoped that it wouldn't drop out of his chest. Not in front of all of these people. The mere thought ashamed him, and he sobered up immediately. He wouldn't want to ruin everyone's appetites with such an unsavory display. He needed Italy on his side, and ruining his meal for all of these guests would not be the way to go about it, he was sure of it.

He placed a hand to his chest where his heart was, and he frowned. He wished to gain more control over his mysterious emotion-harboring vessel, and he no longer wanted to to be so vulnerable when he experienced feelings. How could he harden himself against it? Should he continue to indulge in what the emotions brought, or should he just wall himself off? If he could no longer feel, he wouldn't embarrass himself when he became overwhelmed. It sounded much easier than it would be, he knew. After all, he had tried it before in the past.

His musings were cut off when his American interest suddenly began waving his arms in the air. He blinked slowly. Was he... motioning to him? It seemed like it. Before he could push off from the wall, a familiar brown-haired man darted past him and into the crowd, heading straight for America. The two men met in a hug that rivaled the one that America and Canada had shared in passion. He felt a stab of jealousy penetrate his weak heart, and he trembled from the intensity. He fell against the wall and sunk down into his scarf. His fist clutched a handful of his coat. _It hurts_.

He couldn't take his eyes away from the couple, even as they separated and regained a polite distance from each other. He didn't know what hurt more: seeing his favorite Baltic so blatantly ecstatic to be away from him, or seeing his American embracing other countries when he could hardly show happiness when being in his presence at times.

Russia didn't feel particularly hungry anymore, but he knew he couldn't shut himself off from the party. Italy had taken the time to invite him over the phone, and he promised profusely that everything would work in his favor. He would assign America to his room, and he would insure that Russia would be able to work out whatever needed it. His conflicted heart would be taken into America's warm, soft hands, and he could sleep easily. At least, that's what his mind supplied when Italy had eagerly assured, "Ve! This-a party will work out for all of us!"

He had wondered at the time who "all of us" pertained to, but he figured it wasn't his business. He was too focused on the fact that Italy had persuaded him to leave his unwell sister's side to sleep in the same room as America. How had he known Russia was so infatuated with the blond? It was more than likely gossip, but Italy did seem like the type of person who was attuned to real, raw emotion. He was known far and wide for his country's sense of romance, after all.

He integrated himself into the crowd when Italy announced that the meal would be served, and he seated himself between Greece and Poland. The rest of the evening went by in a daze.


	11. XI: Drunken Spats

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter XI: Drunken Spats**

_Italy shares dinner with the world, and Canada experiences his first violent altercation._

* * *

Before Russia knew it, having mechanically lifted his fork to and from his plate and stared off into space, dinner was concluded. The pleasantly-stuffed countries finished their last sips of wine and earnestly congratulated the blushing Italian on a delicious meal.

Russia lightly patted at his lips with his napkin and placed his silverware on his empty plate. He folded his hands in his lap and struggled not to turn his head and glare fiercely at the noisy group down the table. He was jealous, and he was too stubborn to fix it, having spent his meal entirely in silence. He hadn't even bothered to listen to the polite conversation that emitted from what was dubbed as the "quiet side" of the table.

The silvery-haired man did take a quick peek from the corner of his eye to observe the events of the "loud side" of the table.

America was trashed, it was easy to tell. He had an arm around Canada, another arm around Lithuania, and both legs nearly propped up on the table. His mouth was wide open in a roar of laughter. He sloshed the remainder of his wine down the front of Canada's military uniform in his joy. Canada, though, appeared equally drunk, and he waved it off, banging his fist upon the surface of the tablecloth, flinging a spoon to the floor behind him. Lithuania, though not nearly as intoxicated as his companions, was laughing heartily at whatever Prussia, who was seated opposite Canada, had said.

A miffed England was making it his sole purpose for the evening to insure that America did nothing too drastic to embarrass him, like he was so prone to do in public functions. However, with France snaking a hand up his shirt and assaulting his ear, he was finding it impossible to focus on scolding the North American brothers for their inappropriate behavior.

Italy leaned over to assure England that he had expected nothing less from them, and he encouraged everyone to have as much fun as possible. Germany was at the head of the table, sipping at his glass of beer and barely refraining from slamming his hands on the table and calling for order, as if they were at a world conference. His jaw and fist twitched from the effort.

"You know, Prussia, with a joke like that, I can almost forget how much I despise you!" America chortled, leaning forward towards the silvery-haired man across the table, dragging his two drinking buddies with him. His words were slurred, and his cheeks were flushed. He seemed to be having difficulty keeping his mouth closed.

Prussia paused in his own amusement to give America a suggestive smirk. "Oh, really? Does zhat mean ve're going out now?"

Russia nearly tore through his gloves, which were residing in an inner pocket of his coat. He snapped his head to the side to shoot daggers at the smaller nation, whispering, "Kill, kill, kill..." under his breath. Greece nearly jumped out of his skin from the scary display, subtly scooting his chair a few inches to the left.

The American found the statement hilarious, and he slapped his knee, almost breaking Lithuania's nose in the process. "Y-yeah, in your dreams, man!"

Lithuania squirmed his way out of America's crushing grip and rubbed at his bruised nose. He patted the blond man on the back and leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "Easy... Russia looks pissed off."

Either America didn't hear what his brown-haired friend had whispered, or he didn't care, for he was suddenly shooting a foot into the air and squawking loudly. He stabbed an accusing finger in what he thought was the direction of Prussia, but to everyone else, he was threatening the punch bowl. "H-hey, dude! No! No, you can't do that!"

"Vhy not?" Prussia purred, retracting his wandering foot a bit. "You seem drunk enough."

Canada flung an arm around his brother protectively and glared at the two Prussias that swam in front of his vision. "I don't know what you did... and I don't care, but that's my brother!" he slurred, shoving his glasses back up his nose.

The crimson-eyed man looked taken aback and turned his attention to America's look-alike. "Vhoa, how long have you been zhere?!"

America and Canada looked at each other for a few silent seconds, then burst into laughter.

"Oh, c'mon, that joke is, like, so old now..." America informed him. "Everyone knows Canada exists now! He's my bro!"

Prussia waved a dismissive hand in the air. "I vouldn't know, since Germany is talking about banning me from zhe world conference. Isn't zhat right, Bruder?"

Germany's eyebrow arched. "You have brought it upon yourself. Most countries do not appreciate having a foot jammed into zheir crotch vhile zhey are attempting to learn about zhe vorld's problems. I vill not receive anozher complaint again." Though his words were spoken with a serious tone and an air of finality, the North American brothers erupted into a new fit of giggles over it.

"I von't do it again," Prussia promised with a bat of his eyes and a cheeky grin. "Please, Bruder?"

"Fine," he sighed. "But I'd better not receive anozher complaint! I have more important zhings to vorry about."

With a fist pump of victory, Prussia announced to the table, "I, zhe awesome Prussia, vill be at zhe next vorld meeting!"

England groaned and massaged his temples. "It's bad enough with America there, but please tell me they will learn to behave themselves!" He raised his eyes and cringed at the sight of overturned bread baskets, spilled wine and punch, and food crumbs adorning the once immaculate table. He turned his head to give Italy a pitying expression. "I will stay after dinner to assist you with the tidying up, Italy."

"Ve, thank you!" Italy appeared as happy as can be, having taken the seat directly to the left of Germany. He twirled the stem of his empty wine glass in one hand and peeked at the German man through the glass. A thought came to him, and he jumped to his feet to address the entire table with, "Oh, I hope you will-a visit the cafe across the street! They-a serve some delicious treats!" He didn't appear to be in a hurry to clean up, and he sunk back down into his seat and laid his head on the table so he could peer up at the bright blue eyes that regarded him warily.

Countries began standing from their chairs, bidding their farewells, and filtering out to either their hotel rooms or the street to engage in the nighttime activity.

America wanted to follow the countries that exited through the double glass doors, but his legs weren't working. He found that he was unable to muster enough strength to force himself to his feet. It amused him greatly, though he did feel a twinge of irritation. "I wanna go outside!" he complained loudly, banging a fist on the table's surface to emphasize his point.

Prussia perked up, jumping to his feet and making his way around the table, tugging at Italy's curl affectionately as he did and dodging a swipe from his brother. When he neared the drunken American, he suddenly froze and narrowed his eyes.

America swiveled his head to the side when Canada abruptly disappeared, and he was astonished to find violet eyes staring into his own blue. He smiled lazily and commented, "Prussia, your eyes are so... pretty." He was confused when the pair that he was looking at became angry, and a voice oozing with glee boomed from behind him, "Danke, America!"

_Prussia?_ Russia narrowed his eyes, scowling. He was deeply insulted that he had been referred to as "Prussia," but a tiny part of him couldn't help but realize that America was so drunk, he hardly knew where he was. Still, seeing Prussia sending him gloating, smug smiles was infuriating him. Ignoring the other nation, he flung America's arm over his shoulder and wrapped his own around his waist to steady him. Guiding the man to his feet, he began urging him towards the staircase.

"Vhere do you zhink you are taking him?" Prussia's voice rang out behind him.

Russia would have liked to ignore the man, but America was suddenly squirming energetically to get out of his grip.

"I wanna go outside, I said!" America repeated his complaint. He tilted his head back to arch an annoyed eyebrow at him. "If you won't take me outside... Mattie! Where's my brother? Mattie will take me!"

"Alfred," Canada spoke up from his place on the ground under his overturned chair, "I will take you to the cafe. But... my legs don't work either..."

Lithuania, who had retreated back a few chairs when he noticed Russia approaching, sighed and shook his head. He made to stand up and place the Canadian on his feet, but he was stopped by Prussia, who scooped the small man up into his arms as if he were a dainty new bride.

"I've got it!" Prussia said. "Come, Russia. Let's take zhem to zhe cafe. Clearly zhey have not had zher fill of fun for zhe evening."

Russia gave him a deathly glare and urged America forward towards the double doors wordlessly.

Italy, who had been inching his fingers up Germany's arm, perked up. "Oh, that-a sounds wonderful!" He didn't remember having been the one to suggest it, but it sounded favorable to him. "Let's-a go to the cafe!" As he said this, he promptly fell face forward onto the table, snoozing away.

Germany shook his head in annoyance and smiled apologetically at everyone else. "I vill need to take him to his room now."

The countries parted and made their way to their intended destinations, leaving England and France to deal with the 'cleaning.'

* * *

"Zhat scarf looks absolutely pristine," Prussia remarked, leaning over the cafe table he was seated at to study the fine knitting of the new piece of cloth that was hugging Russia's neck. His crimson orbs darted up to meet the man's cold violet ones. A smirk crawled onto his face. "Surely you vouldn't mind if I borrowed it for a vhile?"

Russia's hand shot out and clamped down onto Prussia's, which had been inching towards his gift. His pale fingers dug into the other man's equally pale skin with a merciless intensity. "Da, I would mind."

"Hey, relax!" the albino man exclaimed, waving his free hand in surrender. "I just vanted to look at it. Vhere did it come from?"

"It was a gift."

"Ooh, from whom?"

"America gave it to me," Russia revealed, catching the attention of the sobering man seated beside him.

"Wha—? Oh, yeah. I gave him that scarf. I never thought he would wear it!"

"Vhere's mine?" Prussia complained, shooting America a pleading expression. "You never get _me_ anyzhing..."

Lithuania, who had regretfully taken his place on the opposite side of America from Russia, tensed. He could feel the air around them become chilly with Russia's hateful aura. He knew when things were best turned to a different subject. "America, what are you going to do after this?"

"Mm... I dunno yet, dude. I guess it depends on what you guys are up for."

"I'm up for anything!" Canada exclaimed, swaying dangerously in his chair. He had brought another glass of wine from the party, so he was still feeling the full effects. His eyes were unsteady, but he oozed confidence and charisma. At this moment, he was as outgoing as his brother, and the group could hardly tell the brothers apart. "Dudes, let's go to a movie or somethin'."

"Canada, you're so fucking drunk. England would shit himself if he saw you right now," America informed him with a chuckle. He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Maybe we should just always keep a beer near you. You'd be the life of the party. Even _I'm_ a little tired after all that happened at dinner."

"You are going to be so sick tomorrow," Prussia spoke up, flicking Canada's ear. "You vill vake up und moan, 'Oh, Prussia, vhat zhe hell did I do last night?' Und I vill respond, 'Nozhing you didn't ask for, mein Lieber.'"

America gawked at the crude silvery-haired man across from him, while Lithuania pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Russia's expression soured considerably.

Canada appeared to contemplate this seriously for several seconds, but the effort became too much for his alcohol-addled mind, and he broke out into a wide grin. "So how aboot that movie?"

"Perhaps I should stay in your room tonight..." America trailed off, unsure. He frowned at Prussia's lecherous smile. "My brother had better not be raped when he wakes up in the morning."

"I'm all for zhat idea!" The man paused for a few seconds, allowing America to gawk and wonder just what he was referring to. "I've alvays vanted to try a threesome."

The armrests of the chair Russia was seated in promptly shattered with the force of the furious man's grip. Before Russia could beat Prussia to death with his iron pipe, Canada was stumbling out of his chair and wobbling in the direction of the entrance, having lost interest in the proceedings and looking for entertainment.

"Canada! Wait up, bro!" America bolted from his seat to escape the heavy tension that hung in the air. He took two steps towards Canada, but a hand stopped him in mid-step. He turned his head to look down at Russia, who frowned up at him, his violet eyes troubled.

"Amerika, I am uncomfortable with this. Do you want to go back to our room?"

Prussia narrowed his eyes at them. Just as America opened his mouth to reply, there was a yell from the direction Canada had disappeared, followed by a sickening crack that echoed ominously throughout the cafe. People's conversations broke off, and several gasped in horror. America immediately sped off around the corner of the nook they had sat in, and he was greeted by the sight of blood splattered on the ground, leading to a fallen Canada. His eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open in a voiceless shout.

Russia, Prussia, and Lithuania appeared next to him, also surveying the scene with mixtures of confusion, dread, and concern. Prussia was the first to react, though, and he hurried to the fallen man, lifting him. "Vhat zhe hell happened?!"

It was then that they noticed a few civilians standing a few feet from Canada, angered. The German man clutched his girlfriend possessively and spat something at Prussia in German.

"What the hell is he saying?" America demanded, taking menacing steps towards the civilians.

"He said zhat Canada tried to assault his girlfriend, so he was defending her," Prussia translated, his eyebrow furrowed. "Zhat doesn't sound like your Bruder."

"Canada wouldn't do something like that! Tell him, Prussia. He just hit my brother for no reason!"

When Prussia translated hesitantly, the couple grew angrier and began shouting and pointing at them. The rapid German flew through the air, back and forth between the two parties. The employees were inching towards the phone, debating on whether they should call the police or not.

"If they don't shut up, I'll...!" America wasn't able to finish his sentence because Russia was gently pushing past him and holding up a hand, asking for silence.

Russia calmly made his way up to the man and his girlfriend, who broke off in their yelling and fearfully took in his bulk and height. He brought his hand up until it was level with his face, and he stared at it thoughtfully. Seconds later, he reared it back and threw his clenched fist at the man, connecting solidly with the man's jaw, sending him flying through the air until he hit the wall behind him.

"Canada is much too drunk to remember how to walk, let alone assault someone," Russia replied coolly. "It is just a drunken spat."

Prussia jabbed a finger in the direction of the shaking woman who was kneeling over her fallen boyfriend and barked out a command in German. When she nodded numbly, he sighed harshly, pushing Canada's sweaty bangs from his face and removing the shattered glasses. His crimson eyes trailed over the man's busted lip and nose.

America knelt beside him and grabbed for Canada's hand, and Lithuania joined them. "Poor guy... I don't even think he'll remember any of this tomorrow."

Prussia snorted. "I don't zhink _zhat_ guy," he gestured towards the man that was slumped against the wall, "vill remember his own name, at zhe very least."

"That was one hell of a punch." America's eyes lit up, and he turned to give Russia an appreciative grin. "Thanks for standing up for my brother, dude."

Russia smiled sheepishly.

Prussia rolled his eyes, ignoring his twinge of jealousy. "Let's get Canada back to zhe hotel room before he bleeds all over zhe floor."


	12. XII: The Act

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter XII: The Act**

_Canada helps Prussia with a problem, and America takes it the wrong way._

* * *

Dull ebbs of pain were all he could focus on when his mind swam along the edge of consciousness. _No_, he groaned inwardly, _I don't want to go there. It hurts... Please, just let me sleep through it all..._ Despite his desperation to avoid whatever was waiting for him in the world of the living, Canada's eyes fluttered open slowly. It was dark, with the few morning trickles of light barely illuminating the room. He appreciated the dim lighting, and he blinked the sleep from his eyes, wincing at the sharp ache stabbing at his skull. His stomach churned unpleasantly, his lip and nose felt swollen and injured, and he was experiencing the worst headache he had ever had the misfortune to acquire.

He turned his head to the side to find Prussia's silvery hair fanned out over the top of his bedspread, while the man was hunched over and lightly snoring next to him. He was seated in a chair that had been taken from one of the desks. It looked horribly uncomfortable, and Canada was filled with guilt. Wincing at the new pain the motion brought, Canada sat up and placed a hand on Prussia's silvery head. "Prussia," he croaked, his throat dry, "wake up..."

He nudged at the sleeping man until he roused from his position.

Prussia, grouchy at the sudden awakening, nearly complained loudly about it, when he remembered who was resting in the bed before him. His sharp crimson eyes darted from the half-lidded, foggy eyes to the grimace twisting his lips. He frowned. "How are you feeling?"

"Horrible," he managed to whisper, and his eyes slid shut. "What happened...?"

Keeping his voice low, Prussia regaled the events of the previous night. "Let's just say zhat you vill be feeling zhat for a vhile."

"Don't ever let me drink again," Canada begged. "I feel awful."

"Mmm, I don't know... You vere so amusing last night."

"Please, Prussia. I don't know if you really care if I'm in pain or not—"

Prussia's expression soured. "I'm not heartless!" he muttered. "Vhy does everyone zhink zhat I am a bad guy? I have to hear it from mein Bruder, zhat damn Austria, und Russia cannot stop murdering me vith his eyes vhenever he sees me..."

Canada averted his eyes guiltily. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to accuse you of anything."

Prussia softened his expression and propped himself up on the bed comfortably. "Zhat's acceptable. Sometimes my awesomeness becomes too much for some people, und zhey must express zheir jealousy somehow."

Canada chuckled half-heartedly. He watched his bear Kumajirou stretch out lazily at his feet, opening his jaw in a yawn.

"Does America really hate me?" Prussia suddenly asked, crossing his arms and staring out the window. He appeared slightly troubled and in thought.

"I don't think America hates anyone," he answered confidently. "He goes to war with people, sure, but he's a forgiving guy. He doesn't have the ability to harbor hate. He does regard some with less... warmth than others, though."

"I must be one of zhose," the silvery haired man grumbled. "He told me zhat he has 'despised' me."

"America said that, eh?" Canada opened his mouth in surprise. "He must have been very drunk. Listening to America while he is drunk is like listening to someone who is attempting to lie but isn't very good at it. I suggest you don't let it get to you. But... why does it bother you so much?"

Prussia turned his head to stare into Canada's eyes, which were such a vivid blue that he felt like he could see through the depths of his emotion with crystal clarity. His dark blonde hair was mussed and wild from sleep. His nose and lip were swollen, the battle scars of defeat. The Prussian smiled ruefully, shaking his head at himself. "I have liked America for some time. He is so energetic und passionate, fiery. Zhe vay he delivers his presentations und defends his opinions is inspiring. Vhile his awesomeness is novhere near my own, he is vorth vatching."

Canada's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "You like my brother? That's so weird..."

Prussia pursed his lips, defensive. His voice had an underlying tone of threat. "Vhat of it?"

"America is very popular lately," he remarked, rolling his eyes. He idly picked at the stitching of his blanket. "You're probably going to have to get in line behind Russia."

"I knew it!" he exclaimed, regretting it the instant Canada clapped his hands over his ears and moaned in pain. "Entschuldige... I knew somezhing vas going on."

"It hasn't been discreet," the dark blond man replied. "Many countries think they are already dating."

This information upset the Prussian, who fell back against his chair and slumped dejectedly. He regarded Canada with troubled eyes. "I knew it," he repeated in a whisper.

"I think that they aren't together. I've already talked to America aboot it several times, and he assured me that there is nothing going on between them."

Prussia perked up. "Really? But how vill I ever get a chance to say anyzhing to him? Russia guards him like a vicious dog."

"It will be tricky," he agreed, tapping his fingers on the comforter. "Would you like to come up with a plan? We can even rehearse it, since I look so much like him."

"Ja, zhat sounds great!" Prussia pumped a fist in the air in victory.

"All right," Canada sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm America, and you're alone with me. Russia isn't around, so how would you begin? All formalities aside."

* * *

America spent most of the night pacing the room and struggling to decide whether he should rush to Canada's room to ensure that nothing was being done to his little brother. His wild imagination became more and more erratic and horrifying until he nearly had to lock himself in the bathroom to keep himself from bursting in on the two men. He had no idea what was really happening to his injured brother, but he knew it couldn't be anything good. He trusted no one with the well-being of Canada. However, Russia had nonchalantly set up camp in front of their door with a chair and a book, blinking at him innocently when he approached him with a determined expression.

Before he could open his mouth to make an excuse to leave the room, Russia simply told him to turn the television on and amuse himself until he was tired enough to sleep. He was stuck staring at the thick silver locks of hair that peeked over the edge of the Russian literature in his hands. He stomped away and regrouped for a new strategy.

It lasted until the early hours of the morning, at which point America became so exhausted that he collapsed on his bed, dead to the world.

When he awoke that morning, Russia was gone, with his bed made immaculately. The room smelled faintly of a soap, and America grudgingly admitted to himself that he needed to shower desperately. He locked both doors to the bathroom and shed his clothing all over the tiled floor, uncaring of the puddles that soaked the material of his shirt and pants. He stepped into the warm spray of the shower head he had turned on and sighed, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes.

He had spent a lot of time in the shower in that position, enjoying the warmth and clearing his mind of all troubles. His thought soon drifted to his brother, and he resolved to visit him any way he possibly could. The Russian and Prussian would not be obstacles for this determined sibling. Canada, his sweet sensitive Canada, was most likely in a lot of pain and wondering what had happened. There was no doubt in his mind that Prussia was hand feeding him lies or even teasing him about it. He grew cross at the idea and clenched his fists. Within a few minutes, he had completely washed himself with soap, ran shampoo and conditioner through his hair, and rinsed the resulting suds from his body.

He leaped from the shower, snatched up a towel with his embroidered name, and wrapped it around his waist. His hair was still soaked, and he was dripping copious amounts of water all over the floor to add to the initial puddles created by his Russian roommate. He burst out into the warm room and left telltale tracks on the plush carpet. The American felt no guilt for ruining such expensive-looking carpet when he was hellbent on seeing to Canada's best interests. Clothing was strewn all over his side of the room as he frantically searched his suitcases for something suitable to wear. Remembering that he had left his brush in the bathroom, he spun around on his heel and was reacquainted with a familiar brick wall. One hand grabbed at a beige-covered arm, and the other held the ends of his towel closed to preserve his modesty.

Russia, whose mouth was slightly agape, arched both eyebrows at the American. "Amerika... I must say I am _almost_ speechless by this display."

"What?" America barked, slightly annoyed by the interruption. He released the Russian and took a few hasty steps backwards to regain some breathing room. "I left my change of clothes out here so they wouldn't get wet. Isn't that a logical thing to do?"

Russia struggled not to stare at the man's state of undress. After a few seconds, his mind registered what his ears had picked up on. He cleared his throat roughly. "Ah... da. It is logical. I was merely surprised." He turned away to give the American some privacy to wiggle into his jeans and shirt. Once that had been accomplished, he rushed into the bathroom to retrieve his brush.

"I gotta run out and do some things. I'll be back soon," America informed him flatly, having finished his grooming. His hair shone brilliantly, and his sky blue eyes twinkled with a fierce determination, which startled the violet eyed man considerably. He was tugging on his bomber jacket and striding quickly towards the door before he could be wrangled into a frenzy of excuses.

"Where—"

"I'll be back soon!" America repeated over one shoulder, irritated. "Why don't you go visit another country or something, bro? 'Kay, see ya."

Russia was left gaping at the unexpected harsh treatment, a pang shooting through his heart. His outstretched hand fell dejectedly at his side.

* * *

America had taken a discreet route in the event that Russia had chosen to follow him, which he knew was not a completely impossible option. He looped around the numerous hallways, rode the elevator to the top of the hotel, then back to the second floor. He darted into a public restroom and hid behind a stall for several minutes, his breath held. He half expected the Russian to burst into the stall and ask him what he was doing in that annoyingly sweet tone of his. He still puzzled over the amount of attention he received from his former rival, but he knew from experience that dwelling over it would result in a pounding headache and building even more confusion within his heart.

He had seated himself on the plush lid of the finely polished toilet, his legs pulled to his chest so his feet could not be spotted from beneath the walls. He rested his chin on his knees grumpily. It should not be so difficult to visit his own brother. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but he knew not to take the persistence of the Russian lightly.

When nobody burst in on him, and he couldn't even hear the telltale patter of heavy boots trekking across the regal red carpet outside of the bathroom, he deemed it safe to continue with his mission to check on his brother. He darted out of the bathroom and down the hallway to stand outside the room he knew Prussia and Canada were residing paused at the heavy wooden entrance, his knuckles poised above the golden lettering of "130." Whether he was going to knock or punch the door in, he wasn't sure just yet. In hindsight, he really didn't want to burst in on a bare-ass Prussia getting out of the shower or anything. His ears strained to pick up any noise from within. When he heard Prussia's distinctive accent, he leaned in and pressed his ear fully against the keyhole.

He listened to his brother's soft murmurings, sounding vaguely like an apology. He glared at the door frame. The North American brothers had nothing to feel sorry for. Nonetheless, he focused on the words. What little he could catch of the conversation that his brother and the Prussian were apparently having seemed to pertain to himself. He nearly bumped his head against the shiny doorknob resting innocently above his golden head every time he picked up on his name.

It was exceedingly difficult to distinguish one word from another when it seemed like the two men were trying to whisper. He growled softly, clenching his fists. He felt conflicted. Was his brother in trouble, or was he not? He almost felt like he would be intruding on something important if he decided to fly through the door.

Suddenly, the words were clear and painfully real. His eyes shot wide open, and his mouth swallowed back a scream of disbelief. His glasses slid down his nose, but he was too distracted to right them. America was so painfully confused.

"Zhere is somezhing I've alvays vanted to tell you..." A lengthy sigh. "I admire your passion, your courage, und I adore zhe vay your blue eyes light up vhen you are sharing your ideas. Your blond hair sparkles a vivid golden in the light, und I am entranced by your physical strength."

His brother's soft voice trickled almost seductively through the keyhole in automatic response. "Well, yeah, everyone thinks that. Why does it matter?"

"But nobody can ever appreciate it quite like I can," Prussia responded confidently. "Your fire, your determination, your power in zhis vorld despite being so young... I know zhat nobody pays much mind to it, but I have admired it from a distance for so long."

America's horror grew. However, a single thought slid over his frenzied, panicked ones and bobbed to the surface of his mind. _That doesn't sound like my Mattie. Prussia is so delusional. The bastard is probably buttering him up so he can get into his pants easier._

"Why are you telling me this?" Canada sounded frustrated. America's nostrils flared, and he pumped a fist into the air. _That's right, Mattie, put that ass in his place._

"I like you," Prussia stated, and his tone simply oozed sexual implications. "If you give me a chance, I can show you an awesome time. Don't deny me. Don't deny... _zhis_..." There was a light sound, like someone shifting on top of a bed.

Canada gulped when Prussia advanced upon him, the crimson-eyed man crawling onto the bed. He knew they were just acting, but he couldn't fight the twinge of _something_ that blossomed in his chest when Prussia turned those serious, dark orbs upon him. He vaguely wondered what his brother would _really_ do in this situation, but he found that he came up with a blank. He decided to improvise. He smirked lightly at Prussia and waved a hand in the air. "Convince me," he nearly purred.

Prussia grinned widely, winking at him. "Maybe someday," he whispered. He leaned out of Canada's comfort zone and stretched his arms above his head.

America, who had nearly had a heart attack at his brother's seemingly new-found sexuality, had retreated far, far away so he could attempt to dislodge the images from of his head.

"Do you zhink America vill really respond like zhat?" Prussia inquired, furrowing his brow.

"I don't," Canada replied honestly. He turned his head away so the other man couldn't see the blush glowing on his cheeks. He tugged the blanket up to his chin self-consciously. "It's a little weird thinking aboot him being seduced, so I was just using best case scenario for your benefit."

This thought did little to settle the Prussian's nerves, and he let out a harsh sigh. "I guess zhat now I just need to get him alone."

"Easier said than done," he quipped. He turned his chin slightly to lock eyes with Prussia. His eyes held a gleam that was decidedly wicked and the product of being ignored for so long. "But maybe we can arrange something, eh?"


	13. XIII: Misinterpretations

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter XIII: Misinterpretations**

_Canada distracts Russia, Prussia attempts to woo America, and nothing goes right._

* * *

Italy cried out when something collided with him in the hallway, and he fell to the ground in a flail of useless limbs. His eyes squeezed closed. He groped around in his coat for his trusty flag of surrender, a plea on the tip of his tongue.

"Relax," America knocked his knuckles lightly against the Italian man's forehead affectionately. "Sorry about that..." The blond sat back on his heels and helped Italy sit up. His eyes appeared haunted, and his hair was mused from the number of times he had threaded his hand agitatedly through it.

"It's-a fine, but..." Italy trailed off and bit his lip. "What is-a wrong? You look unhappy!" He dreaded to think of anyone not enjoying themselves at his party.

"I'm just dealing with some very disturbing news," America muttered, turning his face away. "It's not your fault, dude. I'm really sorry for running into you and knocking you down. I probably should have been watching where I was going."

Italy frowned cutely. "Disturbing news?" he echoed, clearly wishing to know the details.

America tensed. He cast a suspicious look around him to check for any lingering nations. Grasping Italy by the hand and helping him to his feet, he began leading the curious red-haired nation towards one of the numerous supply wardrobes lining the hall. "I'd rather not mention it out here." He felt odd divulging his personal thoughts, but he nearly bursting from holding in his outrage.

Italy squeaked when he was urged into the dark supply wardrobe and found himself backed up against a shelf. He felt a twinge of fear until America ripped at the dangling lightbulb cord above them, bathing them in a soft yellow light. The door clicked behind them, and silence engulfed the small room. The frustrated blond crossed his arms over his chest and eyed the other occupant seriously.

"A-America," he stuttered, playing with the hem of his military jacket and avoiding the intense blue-eyed stare that nearly burned a hole through him, "I'm-a little confused. What's going on?"

America let out a long, harsh sigh. "Italy, what is wrong with us?"

"I'm-a not s-sure I follow—"

"Are relationships between nations, free of all forms of politics, forbidden or aren't they? I mean, as long as no talk of war or rebellion, no nuclear weapons, no invasions, no secret bases... As long as none of that comes up, is it okay for two nations to... _get busy?_"

Italy jumped at the man's tone and flushed. He trembled slightly and mashed his knuckles together. "W-what—"

"Not that _I_ want to, of course," America interjected instantly, cutting off the startled man. "But seriously! Let's use a totally untruthful and nonspecific example here... uh. Okay, maybe it's a little specific. Fuck it, just listen. Say one country is just minding his business and being awesome and shit, and another country suddenly comes up to him and starts harassing him. No reason at all for it. Then the awesome nation is suddenly being hounded by all the other nations about the entire thing, accusing him of dating the other nation. No matter how many times I-er, he denies it, everyone seems to be unconvinced and even suspicious about the whole thing."

"America—"

"We have emotions, _don't we?!_" he was becoming very passionate with his speech, motioning dramatically with his hands and tensing his muscles in preparation, as if his tormentors were about to burst into the wardrobe and continue the very harassment he was describing. "Why would we have emotions and even human parts if we weren't allowed to have casual relations? What the hell—"

"_America!_" Italy exclaimed, clasping his hands together and bowing his head in silent apology for his sudden outburst. He tilted his chin to lock eyes with the fuming nation in front of him. "Have-a you considered that maybe countries have, er, relations with-a each other all the time? It's-a not the idea of it but the other country that is-a harassing you, I mean, the protagonist of-a your little story."

"Who?" The American appeared taken aback. "Who are the countries that are in a relationship? Why don't I already know this?"

The red-haired man shook his head slowly. "Are-a names really important here?"

"Yeah, dude! If you want me to believe you, you'd better start naming some names."

Italy coughed into his fist and blushed. "I-a thought France and England were-a rather obvious..."

America rolled his eyes and scoffed. "France flirts with _everyone_. I wouldn't call that a 'relationship.'"

"Nonetheless..."

"Okay, who else, then? I'm, like, not even convinced."

"I can't..." Italy whispered. "I'm-a trying to help a few of my allies..."

The blond man stared, bewildered. "You mean this entire party is... a dating game?"

"Somewhat..."

"Is... is that what you meant by me being the guest of honor?! I'm the main piece of meat that is going to be auctioned off to the highest bidding country?!" America raged, his cheeks rosy at the implications. "Did Russia set you up?! When I see that bastard—"

"No!" Italy cried, falling to his knees. "I'm-a not auctioning you, America! And Russia did-a nothing!"

Feeling little sympathy for the sniveling man at his feet, America huffed. "Then what the hell is going on here? You have a few minutes to explain to me before I get on the next flight home. I'm taking my brother with me, too! For all I know, you let Prussia loose on Canada by rooming them together."

Italy bowed his head, wordless.

"What?!" America squawked. "What the hell, Italy?! The man is a freaking pervert! He's in their room seducing my innocent Mattie at this very moment! At least... that's what it sounded like." He shifted uncomfortably and rubbed at the back of his neck. He averted his eyes from Italy's curl and bit at his lip.

"America..." Italy began cautiously, "...I-a set this up not only for Russia's benefit, but also for-a Prussia's. And for-a my own."

"Explain."

"Russia likes you," he blurted out, flushing deeply. "We have-a been encouraged to become allies by our bosses, and we have-a formed a bit of a friendship lately. He-a tells me things, like how he-a feels for you..."

America shook his head in utter disbelief. "A ridiculous notion. I'll pretend I didn't hear that part. Just keep going."

"Prussia is also my ally, and I-a want nothing more than to see him happy. He also tells me of his feelings... See, it is-a more common than you believed. We-a have emotions, and we can use them. You-a can't hate everyone for feeling wary of Russia."

"So you sic him on my brother without even telling me?" America's eyes flashed dangerously. "If you have talked to him at all, you'd realize just how close we are. He has my back, and I have his. There are no secrets between my bro and me."

"N-no," Italy mumbled, twitching in nervousness. "He-a doesn't like Canada. He-a... likes _you_."

"Oh, my _God_," America moaned in annoyance, slapping a hand over his face as if to block out the lies he was being fed. "Not this again. This must be some kind of stupid joke. 'Let's all toy with America's emotions and see how he reacts when he figures out that we were all lying to him.' Is that what's going on here? Am I the butt of a big joke? Are England and France in on it, too?"

Italy buried his face in his hands. "You-a just don't understand..."

"Okay, I'll humor you for the moment. Russia and Prussia are deeply and madly in love with me. I get it. So what do _you_ get out of all of this?"

Italy lifted his chin. His eyes swam with a conflicted emotion. "They aren't-a the only ones who have feelings for another."

America arched an eyebrow. "_Oo_kay, you like someone? Who?"

Italy slumped against the shelf that was digging into his back and sighed, seemingly staring through America. He appeared to be in a daze, and he muttered something under his breath that the American couldn't hear.

"What was that?" he cupped a hand around his ear, leaning down until his nose was inches from the curl on Italy's head.

"Germany," Italy whispered. His face twisted into a pained expression, and tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.

"I figured you admired him or something," America commented with a slow nod of his head. "I can't say I'm too surprised, man. You guys have been together since World War II."

"But he-a clearly doesn't feel the same way."

"Have you asked him?"

"N-no, but..."

"Then how could you know for sure?"

"He-a always seems so distant when I talk to him. He-a doesn't even really look at me anymore..."

America sighed and threaded a hand through the depressed nation's hair. "You're definitely older than I am, so I kind of feel weird giving you any sort of advice about this kind of thing. Hell, you are one of the most romantic of us all. But I'll tell you this: if there is anything I have learned in the short amount of time that I have been a superpower it's that the key to success is believing you can do anything. Believing in yourself and knowing that everything will work out for you. If you can't do even this, you are doomed to fail before you even try. Thinking that someone doesn't like you will give you that end result: they don't like you. This is because you won't even bother to ask. However, if you suck it up and actually gather the courage to ask the person, they will give you the correct answer. I see no reason why Germany _wouldn't_ like you. He's still around, isn't he? He's still your ally, and he's still your friend."

Italy wiped at his tears. "Germany is-a still my friend. We-a made this party together."

"Then what's the problem? Too afraid to ask?"

"I am... I am afraid of-a what he might say. I'm afraid he will-a stop being my friend."

A frown tugged at America's lips. "You think Germany would really do that to you?"

"I don't-a know."

"Listen, even if he _does_, for some strange and completely insane reason, reject you and never wants to see you again—" Italy let out a wail of despair at the thought. "—you still have other allies, and you still have a country to run. The world still turns. Germany will get over it, dude."

"How-a do you know this?"

"I don't know for sure, so I might be a little biased. I'm kind of basing this off of the way I deal with countries." America appeared sheepish. "Germany seems like a chill dude. Nothing fazes that guy."

"I promised Russia and Prussia that-a they would get you, and I would-a get Germany with their help."

"Why the hell did you promise both of them? I'm not a whore. I won't date both of them—hell, I won't date either of them! They can both be real assholes."

"Russia mentioned his-a desire to have you first, but then-a Prussia mentioned it right after... They-a both looked so depressed; I couldn't say no to-a either of them..."

America sighed. "You've gotten yourself in a real mess, huh?"

"I suppose. I roomed Russia with-a you because he asked first, but then I got another idea. Your brother."

The American grew tense and narrowed his eyes. "_My_ brother."

"He-a looks so much like you, and he-a even acts like you sometimes."

"Oh, hell no!"

"S-sì, I was-a hoping they would get together instead."

"M-my brother, Italy. My little Mattie!" he cried. "I heard them in their room... Prussia was seducing my Mattie! Y-you _fiend_..." America's head dropped to his chest, and he clenched his fists.

Italy perked up. "So-a they're getting along, sì?" He gulped at the dark look that he was given. He toyed with his clothing nervously before looking up at his companion hopefully. "Please, America, give Russia a chance. He-a means well, _I think_..."

"You're just doing this so they'll help you get Germany, right?" America shot him a disgusted look. "You'll ruin both my brother's and my social life so you can achieve your goal."

"N-no..."

"Save it, Italy." America grit his teeth. "I think I've heard enough for tonight. I'll be requesting a room transfer soon. And Canada is going to be my roommate. You can put Russia and Prussia together. They can do all the _relations_ with _each other_."

"America—"

Without another word, America turned on his heel and left the wardrobe, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

"I'm sending America out to get me some coffee down the street soon." Canada pressed a pack of ice to his face and peered over it at the silvery-haired man sitting at the foot of his bed. "While he's gone, I'll go to their room and distract Russia. You can go talk to my brother without worrying aboot him interfering, eh."

Prussia nodded his head, brushing his fingers over Kumajirou's silky white fur. "I vill hurry over zhere before you call."

"Are you sure aboot this?"

Prussia tossed his hair back and glanced back at the Canadian. "Vhat?"

"This isn't a casual fling, right? My brother isn't just looking for a good time." He leveled him with a reprimanding stare. "My brother needs a long-term companion."

He bit his lip and refused to meet the man's eyes. "My feelings feel strong enough. I zhink so."

"Don't make me regret giving him to you instead of Russia. I just kind of think being with Russia will give him the wrong attention, and he wouldn't like that. He has enough to deal with, being a young superpower and all. He has a huge chunk of responsibility that I frankly don't think he can handle at times."

"I understand. I'll back off if I feel like I misinterpreted my feelings."

"Okay. Go ahead and start walking over there. I'll give America a call and ask him if he'll get me some coffee."

Prussia nodded and stood, striding to the door. He paused at the doorknob and turned his head to smile at Canada. "Zhank you, Canada. I promise you vill never regret meeting me." With a wink, he flew out the door and rushed down the hallway, self-consciously adjusting his uniform. He gave Italy a slight smile in passing when the man was exiting a supply wardrobe before descending the staircase. He let out a breath when he was assaulted with the chilly January air. It took him about ten minutes to make his way across the sidewalk and down the street to the cafe Canada had directed him to. He considered staying outside and greeting America at the door, but he decided that it would appear too much like he expected him to arrive, so he entered the establishment, sighing happily at the heat within.

He sat down nervously at a table with two chairs, waving his hand dismissively at a waitress that approached him with a menu. He wasn't particularly thirsty or hungry. He was, however, overflowing with excitement and anxiousness at seeing his American interest. It seemed like hours that he sat there, drumming his fingertips on the top of the glass table surface and staring determinedly out the window at the snow lining the streets and the snowflakes that lightly coated the glass. German citizens and tourists alike rushed past in a blur, bundled in their heaviest clothing, faces pink from the cold nipping their exposed flesh.

He picked at a button on his jacket and bit his lip. Perhaps ordering a warm drink wouldn't look so out of place in this weather. He signaled for the waitress and ordered a cup of hot tea. When it arrived, he sipped at it. A glance at his cellphone told him that he had been waiting for nearly half an hour already for the American to show up. He debated whether he should text Canada or not about his predicament. _I wonder how he is doing with Russia_, he thought.

* * *

Once Prussia had disappeared from the room, Canada groped around on his comforter for his discarded cellphone, flipping it open so he could find America's number in his address book. The phone began dialing the correct number, and he pressed it against his ear, biting at his nail and watching Kumajirou begin turning on the television in wonderment.

He was pulled from his thoughts when his brother's cool tone came from the speaker.

"Alfred? What are you up to?" Canada inquired.

There was a pause. America was most likely checking his caller identification to confirm that it was Canada who was calling. "Oh, hey, Mattie!" he enthused. "Erm, nothing much at the moment. How are you feeling? I feel like I haven't talked to you in forever."

"I'm fine, Alfred. My face is a little sore, but I have some ice for it."

"That's good." Another awkward pause. "I feel weird talking to you on the phone when you're just down the hall. Should I come to your room?"

"No, that's okay, eh. Is Russia in there with you?"

"Yeah, he's reading. Why?"

"No reason. Can I ask you to do me a favor, please?"

"Sure, bro. What do you need?"

"I really, really want some coffee... I'll pay you back."

"I can do that. Is the nearest cafe okay? If not, I can go to a specific one."

"No, that's fine. The one down the road. You walk across the street and turn right when you exit the hotel."

"I know exactly which one you're talking about. Just a regular coffee?"

"Sugar and cream, please. I really appreciate this, Alfred. I'll see you in a while, eh?"

"Yeah. Yeah, see you soon, Mattie. You want me to text the coffee to you or actually deliver it to your room?" His tone was surprisingly sarcastic.

"No, you can bring it to my room..." He trailed off, listening to Russia chuckle in the background. "Is something wrong?"

"Everything's dandy, bro. Bye." America disconnected the line, leaving Canada listening to the dial tone with growing dread.

He dropped his phone on his bed and pressed the ice pack to his face once again. He would wait about ten minutes before heading over to America and Russia's room. He sincerely hoped that Russia wouldn't follow him out the door when he left to get coffee.

He watched Kumajirou flip through the channels before stopping on one displaying international news. He briefly watched the German characters scroll along the bottom of the screen while an attractive woman shuffled papers atop a desk. Footage of what appeared to be a massacre in a Russian hospital was shown, and Canada frowned in disgust. "Kuma, you shouldn't be watching this kind of thing."

The bear swiveled his head around and gave him a blank look.

Rolling his eyes, the Canadian climbed out of bed so he could put his uniform on. He didn't really want to visit Russia in his pajamas. Before long, he was fully dressed and adjusting his glasses atop his nose. He scooped the bear up from the bed, turning the television off on his way. Together, the pair exited the room, locking it on the way out, and passed three doors before arriving in front of 126. Canada raised his hand to knock timidly on the door, taking a step back.

A few seconds passed before the door swung open, revealing Russia, who peered out in confusion. He made a big show of turning his head to look down each side of the hallway for someone who could have knocked.

"Hello, Russia," Canada greeted coolly.

Smirking in amusement, Russia finally locked eyes with him. "Privyet, Kanada. What brings you here? Did you not just send Amerika out for kofe?"

"Yes, I did. I'm not here for him. I'm here for you."

"Oh?" Russia arched an eyebrow, stepping to the side to allow Canada entry into his room. "Please enter."

Canada carefully brushed past the large nation. Once he had taken a decent few steps inside, he turned to face Russia. He took a deep breath. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"Da, but why do you ask?"

"I figured being forced to room with America would put a damper on your mood, eh. You guys are rivals, after all."

"Quite the contrary, little Kanada. I enjoy being in same room as Amerika. He is, ah, limitless source of entertainment."

Canada couldn't help but chuckle despite feeling nervous being in a confined space with the largest nation in the world. "That he is. The reason I ask is because I was wondering why you suddenly appear so interested in him."

"I do not follow." Russia blinked innocently.

Canada trailed his gaze down Russia's face, pausing a few seconds on the pale, thin lips that curled at the corners. He flushed and averted his gaze. He molded his hands together and shifted his weight onto his other leg. "You thought I was him that one day America gave his presentation, and you kissed me..." He half wished that Russia would gawk at him and declare that he had no idea he had been in his place. However, he knew Russia was more perceptive than that.

"I knew you were not Amerika, little Kanada. You look nothing like him."

Canada snorted in disbelief. "We are very difficult to tell apart. Even our old guardian has to take a second look."

"I am well aware. Why do you bring this up? It was merely a friendly kiss. Do you wish for me to give you another one?"

The dark blond man gaped, taking a few hastened steps backwards. His arms tightened around the bear in his arms. "N-no, that's okay."

"Then why are you here?" Russia's eyes narrowed. "I doubt you visit me to talk about kisses."

He gulped, cowering under the intense violet stare. His mind went blank, and his guilt shone on his face like a beacon. He snapped his mouth closed, his teeth clicking audibly. "I-I just want to make sure my brother is safe... He has received threatening mail before..."

"Oh, da, that. While it is curious, I would not worry about it. Not until it happens again."

Canada eyed the mysterious smile that was ever-present on the man's face, searching his features for any malice. "I hate to be repetitive, but why do you hang around America so much? You never answered, eh."

"You seem so suspicious of me," Russia observed. "I am merely friends with him. It is normal to form alliances."

The Canadian sighed. He knew he wouldn't get far with the imposing country. "If that were the case, why would you dodge the question so much? It _is_ normal to form alliances, but it is _not_ normal to be ashamed of announcing one."

"Amerika does not like to talk about it," he admitted with a frown. "I insist that we are friends, and he shies away."

"Why not form an alliance with other countries, then? Why just America?"

"I am forming alliances. You all will become one with me." His smile grew. "It is inevitable."

Slightly disturbed, Canada coughed. "...Yeah. Okay." A glance at his cellphone told him that he had wasted about fifteen minutes with the Russian. He didn't think it was nearly enough to satisfy the Prussian, but he was struggling to continue the already dying conversation. All he wanted to do was burst into accusations and demands, wanting to know every little detail about what was going on between the two of them. He was his brother, and he had a right to know!

"Waiting for something?" Russia was observant, and his eyes flicked up to meet Canada's blue pair.

"No, just checking the time. I am wondering when lunch will be served."

"It will not be much longer."

"Ah."

More awkward silence descended upon them until the blond man was fidgeting. This encounter was becoming unbearable for the socially awkward country.

"Little Kanada, ask what you came here to know." Russia crossed his arms, and his smile faded. "Do not hold back. I can almost see questions in your head."

Biting his lip and knowing he'll regret it later, he spoke heatedly, unrestrained. "Are you and America having sex? Are you planning to hurt him? Did you intimidate Italy into rooming you together? Do you think you'll achieve world domination from all of this?"

Russia's eyes widened dramatically. He held up his hands. "Ahh..." He mulled over the questions in his head, but he couldn't seem to get past the notion of 'sex with America.' "N-nyet, I am not... we are not..." He coughed, his cheeks heating up. He suddenly found the carpet very interesting, for he refused to meet Canada's curious stare.

"You..." Canada opened his mouth, stabbing a finger in Russia's direction. "You like him! You like my brother!"

Russia suddenly gave him an embarrassed, irritated look. "What is wrong?"

"Oh man, oh man, _oh man_." Canada sat back on Russia's bed and buried his face in his hands. "I knew it. I dreaded it. But he said..."

"_What?_" Russia insisted, taking a few steps towards him.

_America told me nothing was going on. There is no way he doesn't know that Russia likes him. They've been rooming together, after all! They've had dinner, he's been going to Russia's house..._ Canada squeezed his eyes closed, conflicted. _I told Prussia that nothing is going on, but... what if America really is involved with Russia? I might have just messed things up._

Russia appeared bewildered at the unexpected silence.

"So you guys are dating?" Canada's tone was flat. He hadn't even lifted his face to properly address the silvery-haired nation.

"Nyet."

Frustrated, he grit his teeth. "If you like him, and he likes you, why wouldn't you be dating, eh?"

Russia was stunned into silence. His hand flew to his mouth to contain his gasp. "A-Amerika... _likes me?_" His eyes sparkled at the thought, and his cheeks became decidedly rosy. He wanted to duck into his scarf shyly.

Canada's head snapped upwards to stare at him incredulously. "What, he doesn't?"

Russia's joy deflated like a balloon beneath his boot. "You said he does..."

"No, I was just assuming since you like him."

Russia let out a noise of frustration, and he clutched at his chest, hit with a pang of hurt. "Do _not_..." he hissed, "...make me hopeful only to _crush_ it immediately after."

Canada grimaced. "Er, sorry... I don't know if he does or not." He decided not to tell him that America insists that he doesn't like Russia every time he mentions it. He wanted to keep all of his limbs in tact. Shaking his head free of his thoughts, he sighed. He had kept Russia busy for at least thirty minutes now. It would have to be enough time. "I'm going to head back to my room now. Thanks for talking with me, Russia." He rose to his feet.

Russia stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "I would never hurt Amerika, and while I did not arrange room assignments, I am ecstatic it has been this way. I wish only for Amerika's companionship." His violet eyes shimmered with a note of sorrow. "...And any more that I can manage meanwhile."

Swallowing a painful lump of guilt and pity, Canada nodded before rushing out of the room. He barely felt the wintry breeze that swept past him and down the opposite way he was taking.

* * *

America pushed open the doors of the cafe his brother had asked him to go to, shivering violently at the sudden wave of heat. He brushed snow off of his shoulders and hair before taking careful steps into the building. He took a moment to stomp the snow out of his boots at the doormat before continuing inside. He was making a beeline for the counter when a pair of arms suddenly encircled his chilled form firmly. He yelped.

"America!" Prussia greeted enthusiastically.

America grit his teeth when he recognized the silvery-haired European. "Hey, dude..." He felt slightly nauseated by the sight of him when he was suddenly reminded of his brother's supposedly lost innocence at the hands of this man.

"Funny meeting you here, huh?" His tone was doused with honey.

"Yeah..."

"Let's go to my table so ve can catch up. I'll buy you a coffee." Prussia led the man with a hand snugly against the small of his back to his secluded table. He had moved the chairs closer together beforehand so they were close enough to brush legs.

"Actually, I'm here for—"

"Tea? Ja, zhey have zhat, too."

"_No_," America stressed, being forced to sit in the chair next to Prussia's own. "I don't want tea. And I don't want coffee, either. I'm here to pick up some for Canada. You know, my brother? The one that is injured and all alone back at the hotel?" He didn't mean to sound so accusative, but it slipped out. He stared the Prussian down, watching as the grin upon his lips began to falter.

"He's feeling much better, you know."

"I suppose you guys talked about it, huh? Among _other_ things?"

Prussia had the gall to look painfully confused. His face contorted with emotion. "Vhat?"

"Don't play dumb," he hissed, slamming a fist down upon the surface of the glass table, nearly spilling Prussia's tea. "I heard you both earlier."

The Prussian's eyes widened comically. "You heard all of zhat?!"

"Yeah, I did! I heard everything!"

"Vell..." the man turned his eyes down to the depths of his tea shyly. "...I guess I don't have to vaste much time talking."

"Hell no, you don't. I already know everything."

"In zhat case..."

America suddenly found his face being yanked down by two eager hands, and his lips were being devoured by the other man's. His eyes nearly squeezed closed in bliss at the experience, but when he remembered just who was attempting to shove his tongue down his throat, he gasped a muffled exclamation into the lips that slid over his erotically. The tongue that traced the curve of his trembling mouth retreated, but he was still locked in a possessive, awkward embrace over the table. One of his knees had ended up wedged between the Prussian's, and he noted with faint embarrassment that their passionate kiss had been noticed by every person in the cafe.

"America," Prussia purred into his lips, pressing delicate kisses all over his mouth between words, "I like you. I vant you. You already know vhy, so I don't have to vaste my time stroking your ego. Instead, I can stroke your—"

"Whoa, man! _Whoa!_" America slapped a wandering hand away and struggled to pull away from the perverted nation. "Hell no!"

"America?" Prussia pulled his face away a few inches so he could search the terrified blue orbs with growing dread. His arms remained locked around the other nation's form. "I made it clear vhy I vant you. Vhat is zhe matter?"

They failed to notice the murderous aura that flared from a new inhabitant of the cafe.

"I-I like kissing," America admitted. "Love it, in fact. But you're with Mattie, right? I heard you guys..."

"_Vhat?!_" Prussia squawked. "Nein! I'm not vith your Bruder. He vas helping me rehearse vhat I vould say to you."

America's eyes lit up in recognition. "..._Ohhh_. Dude, that totally makes a lot more sense now." However, he broke free of Prussia's grip and shakily stood. "B-but... I, uh, don't like you like that." He turned his face away guiltily. "I'm sorry, I guess..."

Prussia's crimson eyes wavered with an unidentifiable emotion. He clenched his fists into his gloves, and a frown twisted his features. He appeared to be struggling to stay composed. "...I see. Are you vith Russia, zhen?"

America stared at him. Before he could reply, they were interrupted by an almost demonic chanting of "_Kol, kol, kol_..." Russia appeared ominously behind America and glared down at Prussia with a look so full of hate and malice that it took his breath away.

The American turned his head and rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. An odd noise escaped him, like a chuckle and a hiccup. He met the furious violet eyes. "H-hey, Russia... Wanted some coffee after all?"


	14. XIV: Belarus's Wrath

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter XIV: Belarus's Wrath**

_Russia kisses America, and hell breaks loose._

* * *

"R-Russia," America stammered, blinking up at him from behind his lenses. He self-consciously wiped away the traces of Prussia's drying saliva upon his lips and flushed in embarrassment. Just how much did he see, and why did he look like he was ready to tear off Prussia's head and beat him to death with it?

Russia let out a slow breath, closing his eyes for a few seconds. He softened his gaze when he regarded America with much less hostility than before. He patted the blond on the head. "Finish your... _conversation_, and I will put in order for coffee. Your brother is waiting." He gave a meaningful look to the man before turning on his heel, his scarf tickling America's cheek as it fluttered by.

Feeling awkward with the entire situation, America wrung his hands. "Erm, man, I'm amazed he didn't kill you with the way he was looking at you. What'd you even do to piss him off so much?"

"Ja." Prussia grimaced, rolling his eyes. "Mein Gott, he fucking loves you."

America developed an interesting twitch in his eye. "Why the hell does everyone keep saying that? We're just friends."

"You're so oblivious. Yet anozher zhing I von't be able to admire from up close." With a sigh of regret, Prussia picked up his cup of tea and shoved a hand into his pocket. "Vell, I tried. I vill see you around, America. Just for zhe record, I never touched your Bruder. Not once." He waved his hand and left America by himself, disappearing in the swirls of frosty air outside.

The American cursed under his breath and stalked over to where Russia was placing an order. "Mattie wants sugar and cream."

Russia smiled tightly. He relayed the information to the German employee behind the counter.

"And no, I don't want anything. Not a damn thing." Under his breath he added, "I've been given plenty today."

Once the coffee had been delivered to Russia's waiting hand, they returned to the unpleasant weather of the outside. They walked in silence the entire way, with the Russian cupping a gloved hand over the top of the cup to prevent snow from landing inside and cooling it. Before long, they found themselves standing in front of Canada's room. Neither appeared to want to take the initiative and knock.

"Ugh, what if Prussia's in there? I never want to see that bastard again," America grumbled, fishing his phone out of his pocket. "I can text Mattie and get him out here."

"Da," he replied, an uncomfortable frown upon his lips, "that would be acceptable."

While America tapped at the buttons on his cellphone, his head bent over the screen, Russia surveyed him with growing admiration. When he had seen Prussia kiss his America, he had been so angry that he saw red slash across his vision, and his senses absolutely lusted for blood. The intensity of the feeling had scared him, but he found that he was unable to control it. He was fiercely possessive of the blond man, and he did not want to think of the possibility of him wanting to be with someone other than Russia.

However, America's reaction to the kiss had calmed him significantly to the point where he only wanted to kill Prussia twice. He had drawn near enough to hear America's confession to loving to kiss, and it sparked an idea within him. A devious, pleasurable idea that made him tremble with anxiousness. He longed to sweep the American into his arms and kiss him until he was utterly breathless. He just had to find the right time to do so...

His thoughts were interrupted when a pajama-clad Canada answered the door, arching a disgruntled eyebrow at them. "If you needed me, you could have knocked, eh..."

America peered around his brother suspiciously. "Is... Prussia here?"

"No, he hasn't come back yet." Canada bit at his lower lip and flicked his gaze from his concerned brother to his imposing companion. He immediately feared for the worst. "...He's not coming back, is he?"

America gave him a confused look. "Why wouldn't he? Maybe he went out for some fresh air?"

Sliding a hand over his weary eyes, Canada shook his head. "Never mind. Do you want to come in?"

"Yeah, for a moment. Russia has your coffee."

"Russia...?" he trailed off, accepting the foam cup that was thrust into his hands. "Oh, uhm, thank you."

"Do not concern yourself over it," Russia replied nonchalantly. He patted Canada on top of his messy head before entering the room behind the American.

"What are you doing?" America inquired, flopping on the bed he assumed was his brother's and immediately cuddling with Kumajirou. He stroked the fur, cooing quietly at the bear's blank stare.

"I was watching television with Kuma. I think I need a new ice pack soon. This one is kind of melting..." He gestured to the pack that was resting on his nightstand next to his folded glasses. "I don't really know where Prussia got this one."

"Prussia got that for you?" America rolled over onto his back with Kumajirou held protectively to his chest. His eyes slid closed, enjoying the warmth.

"Yeah. He was there when I woke up after the incident, and he filled me in with the details. Did I really grab a woman's chest?" He flushed.

"Haha, you totally did, you stud! She was only pretending she didn't like it." America winked at his flustered brother. "Too bad you were drunk off your ass and can't remember any of the finer details. Like size, shape—"

Russia cleared his throat pointedly.

"You should get some water for that," he shot back. A lazy smile broke out on his face, and he let out a chuckle at the sour look Russia sent towards him. "Bro, you _have_ to let me borrow Kuma tonight. I'll cuddle the shit out of him. Well, maybe not that much."

"No!" Canada exclaimed, reclaiming his spot under the covers, his arms outstretched. "I need him. He needs me. We don't... we _try not to_ separate."

"I'm almost jealous. Remember when we used to sleep together?" America pouted at him, handing the bear to Canada. "I used to be your Kuma."

"I remember... You were just as irritating then, too." Despite his harsh words, he smiled brightly.

"Whatever. Hey, isn't it lunchtime?"

"Mmm... I think Italy called for lunch a little while ago. You could probably get some scraps if you hurry."

"I'm there!" America jumped to his feet. He brushed his lips against Canada's forehead lovingly. "If you need anything, just text. I love you, Mattie. Get well soon."

"Yeah, yeah, I love you, too, Alfred. I'll probably see you for dinner."

"Sounds good." America waved in farewell before tugging lightly at Russia's scarf. "C'mon, big guy. Let's go eat."

The Canadian smiled faintly while watching the pair leave.

* * *

It was painfully obvious that Italy was avoiding America. Any attempts he made to start a casual conversation with the timid man were met with excuses and hurried steps in the opposite direction. It was frustrating; America wanted to find a way to apologize for speaking so harshly to him. While he still wasn't exactly happy about being promised like a mail-order bride to both Prussia and Russia, he knew that, in his nature, it was impossible to hold a grudge.

He nibbled at his turkey and cheese sandwich thoughtfully, propped up on the table's surface with both elbows. He ignored England's swats at his arms and clipped, sharp British tone reprimanding his rude behavior.

"Honestly, I thought I taught you more manners than this." He folded his hands in his lap and grit his teeth.

"Hm?" America made a partially interested noise but continued staring at the wall.

"I find it somewhat endearing," Russia spoke up from America's right. "Especially with food attempting to crawl out of his mouth."

America gasped, covering his mouth before his chewed up food could plop down onto the expensive tablecloth and ruin the appetites of everyone around him. He smiled sheepishly at Russia. "I guess I'm just kind of distracted. And I'd rather have a burger and fries."

"I am rather surprised you even showed up for lunch," England commented. "I expected you to still be lazing about in bed at this time."

"Yeah, why the hell aren't I in bed right now?" America agreed with a tilt of his head. He set his half-eaten sandwich down on his plate and wrapped his arms around himself. "I want a polar bear."

"Pardon me?"

"Mattie has Kuma to keep him warm. I want one, too."

"Have you tried asking him if you could borrow the bear?"

"Yeah, dude! He totally denied me! I don't even get, like, why he would do that. We're brothers. We share everything." America's face fell at the revelation. "Does Mattie hate me now?"

Wordlessly, Russia wrapped a few of the sandwiches America had been eating in a handkerchief. He stood from his chair, having finished his meal several minutes previous. He held out a hand to the depressed American. "It is warmer in our room, da? I am sure it would be acceptable if you finish there."

"Yeah, I guess so." Bidding farewell to his ex-guardian, America dogged Russia's footsteps, ignoring the attention it gained from numerous countries that were still seated. He bit back a groan when he noticed that Italy had refused to return to his own party. He couldn't deny the stab of guilt that embedded itself deep in his chest. The next chance he got, he would have to apologize.

While he followed obediently behind the towering Russia, he couldn't help but think back to the number of times he heard the phrase, "Russia likes you," or anything close to the same wording. Russia was so cold... violent, awkward, alone. He was the biggest, most threatening nation in the entire world, and yet he supposedly grew weak at the knees for a foul-mouthed, outspoken, and outgoing nation like the United States of America? Nonsense. America refused to believe it, even though a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that Russia himself had admitted it.

He shook his head roughly. He was a sexy loner. He didn't have romantic feelings for other nations. He was all business with a twinge of fun. Or was it the other way around? Nonetheless, he didn't get serious with anyone. He had a family, but he didn't have a wife. Or a husband. Or even a casual lover. He gulped at the thought, shoving his hands into his pockets. Why didn't he feel so convinced anymore that he wanted it to stay that way?

Russia unlocked their door and pushed it open, allowing the American to enter in front of him. He placed America's sandwiches on his nightstand, turning the lamp on.

America dragged himself over to his bed and promptly collapsed. He fumbled for the remote control near his head, mashing down on the power button. "Ugh, I think I just want to go home now. This party should be ending soon, right? Italy mentioned a possible trip outside, but shit, it's so cold and snowy outside that I think I'll just stay here in the warmth."

"I am also excited to go to your country," Russia chirped, smiling at the look of recognition that came to America's features. "Will it be snowing?"

"Depends on where we go. If we stick to the southern states, it should be pretty clear."

"I think I would like to see that. Will there be sunflowers?"

"Not yet. I think it's a little too cold for them to start growing." America paused. _Sunflowers._ Why did that seem to fill him with dread? He felt as if it held a bad omen for him. Maybe that was just England rubbing off on him with all that black magic stuff he rambled on about. "Why? Do ya like 'em or something?"

"Da, I adore sunflowers." Russia's violet eyes locked with his. Somehow, he couldn't help but wonder if they were talking about sunflowers or _America_.

The American laughed nervously. "That's cool, I guess." Before he could stop himself, he told him, "If you stop by my country in the summer, I could show you a few sunflower fields."

Russia beamed. He walked towards the blond man, lightly touching his cheek. "I would like that very much. Spasiba."

"N-no problem, dude," he stuttered, shying away from the intimate gesture. He backed up until he could feel his pillow behind him, resting on his elbows and finding it increasingly difficult to maintain eye contact. Was the Russian's gaze always so smoldering? It made him tremble and suddenly wonder if the bed was the best place to be at this moment. "Russia...?"

Was it his imagination, or was Russia climbing onto the bed with him? From the pressure of the hand that dipped the mattress next to his hip, he realized that Russia was indeed on his hands and knees above him, and the scarf had partially fallen from one of his shoulders and pooled over his chest. His lips parted, but his voice failed him. He could suddenly count the number of eyelashes that lined half-lidded, beautiful violet eyes.

"I want to slaughter that Prussian swine for touching you," Russia murmured into his ear, the curve of his nose nudging against the side of his face. "I will make him pay dearly later, but..."

America swallowed a lump in his throat. He furrowed his brow. "But...?"

"...For now, I will prove how superior I am to him."

If he had said he wasn't expecting Russia to kiss him, he would be lying. But if he said he didn't like it, he would be lying _even more_. His lips were captured by Russia's, and he was astonished at how _right_ it felt. The cool, soft lips slid over his own, their teeth knocking together lightly. It made him shudder at how urgent and needy the man's lips were. The depth of his emotion was being conveyed through the way he kissed him.

Russia propped himself up on one elbow and threaded his unoccupied hand through America's golden hair. His heart was fluttering wildly in his chest, and he feared that any second it would drop from its house and land on his American. He decided to save himself the embarrassment and slowly lowered himself until he was pinning America to the bed. Not only would his heart remain securely in his breast, but America couldn't flee until he understood just how much Russia wanted him. He was unaware that the desire to escape had left America's body the instant their lips had connected.

The fingers scraping against his scalp felt so good, and the small kisses Russia pressed against the corner of his mouth forced a small moan from America's throat. He couldn't restrain himself when he slid both arms around Russia's neck and forced him closer. His eyes were squeezed closed in pure bliss. The silvery hair that brushed his hand was as soft as he always imagined it to be. Russia's weight was noticeable, but he couldn't even pretend to be bothered by it when his lips were so busy with the Russian's. He never imagined he would enjoy being dominated like this, but _God_, his lips were tingling, and warmth pooled in his abdomen. He _loved_ kissing. He let out a soft noise, arching against the tall man.

Russia gasped, breathing the kiss for a moment so they could catch their breath. He buried his face in America's neck and inhaled deeply. His hand brushed America's sensitive sprig of hair.

"_Dude_," the American panted, "dude, kiss me again. Don't stop, _please_."

"You are so aroused," Russia commented, awestruck. His chest rose and fell with his heavy breaths. His lips quickly obeyed and sought the eager ones of his companion. His fingers danced across America's curl, drinking in the moans that were muffled against his firm lips. "Amerika..." he breathed.

Their ears were immediately pierced by the simultaneous sounds of glass shattering and a woman screaming in absolute fury and disbelief. They broke apart and swiveled their heads to the side to stare in horror at the unconventional appearance of their unwanted guest.

Belarus was crouched on the carpet surrounded by a shower of broken glass. Her eyes were wide and shimmered with a range of different emotions, all horrified and disgusted. Her hair was dusted with snowflakes, her dress torn from diving in through the window. The fabric appeared to be stained a deep crimson in multiple places.

"This is the second-fucking-floor!" America screeched. "How the hell did she do that?!"

"Brother..." Belarus whispered, slowly rising to her feet and wringing her hands in her dress. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she watched them scramble apart and flush guiltily. "What have you done?"

"Belarus," Russia cringed, "prosti menya, pozhaluysta... Ya..."

Her eyes became hard, and she wiped desperately at the tears, smearing her cheek with blood from her hands in the process. She seemed to be having difficulty understanding exactly what she had just witnessed. Her mouth opened and closed, and she stammered half-formed thoughts. At long last, her face became blank. She took a deep breath, visibly pained from the effort. "For the sake of our future union, I will disregard this incident. However..."

Russia watched his sister with growing dread. He edged away from her, his hands held up defensively. He would never dare to hit his sister, but he felt calmer being closer to the lead pipe nestled deep within his suitcase. "Belarus, j-just... calm yourself... Let us talk about—"

"You will pay," Belarus hissed, baring her teeth at the flustered American still seated upon his bed. She stabbed a bloodied finger in his direction and flushed a deep crimson from the anger that boiled up within her. "How _dare_ you touch my future husband! I will _never_ forget this, and I will _never_ forgive you!" Her voice broke at the end of her threat, and America saw a flash of the troubled young woman that shone through those hurting, piercing dark orbs. "What I did to those fools that tried to keep me locked away from my Russia will never even begin to compare to what I will do to you when I find you alone."

A shiver wormed its way up America's spine. He wrapped his arms around himself in an effort to self-console. He licked his dry lips, Russia's lingering taste upon them. He shoved the thought out of his mind. It was much too inappropriate to be thinking about kissing the Russian at the moment.

"Little sister, w-what did you do?" Russia whispered, horrified. "I-I thought you would be safe there..."

"You left me there so you could seduce this harlot!" she accused, an icy undertone in her voice. "We will talk about this another time."

"N-nyet, sister, we will not talk about this. Y-you need to recover. You are u-unwell and are n-not thinking normally..."

She scowled, outraged. "There is nothing wrong with me!" she shrieked, stomping a foot on the ground. "There is something wrong with _you_ because you clearly do not see our union as something to be celebrated! You are... _you are so mean, big brother!_ Sometimes you make me so angry I feel like I just could not forgive you!"

"_You are such a child!_" America snapped, grabbing two fistfuls of the comforter below him to prevent himself from attacking the young woman. His blue eyes flared with an intensity that nearly had Belarus taken aback. "Russia is your brother, not your plaything, not your fucking future husband! He clearly finds incest to be disgusting, and he will never marry you! Get it through your thick skull and back off!"

"_Shut up_, American scum!" Belarus retorted with a snarl. "You would not know anything about it! You should back off and leave my brother alone! If he finds anything disgusting, it should be your stupid, ugly face!"

America's features darkened, and he crawled forward on the bed towards the woman. His rage matched Belarus's. "I'm warning you..."

Russia appeared to be frozen in place, his hand covering his mouth.

"Well, come, America, show me just what you can do!" Belarus taunted, tensing. She circled the bed and tugged a knife free from the tie of the ribbon on her back. It glinted ominously in the afternoon light that broke free of the clouds.

While America didn't have a weapon that he felt comfortable using in hand-to-hand combat, he was unafraid. He leaped off the bed and cracked his knuckles threateningly. "This is your last chance, Belarus. I won't be sorry for anything I do after this moment."

"Amerika," Russia gasped, "nyet! Do not hurt her! Belarus, prosti menya, do not do this!" He took rapid steps towards the pair, holding out his hands to interfere with the impending battle. He felt torn between protecting his frightening little sister and defending his American interest.

"Do not interfere, big brother. I will deal with you after I have slit the throat of this worthless country." Her tone was not one to be argued with, if the knife and crazed look in her eyes were any indication.

"Amerika," Russia begged, turning to him, "please do not fight my sister. She is unwell and does not know what she is doing..."

America grit his teeth. "I-I know! She just makes me so furious I can't think straight. How do we get rid of her?"

"Do not talk about me as if I am not here!" she yelled, slicing the weapon threateningly in the air. She took a few steps forward, bumping into Russia's outstretched hand. "If you will not fight me, I will tear this entire building apart!"

An amused, sarcastic snort escaped America. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Yeah, okay... Having a bit of a temper tantrum there, Belarus? Maybe we should just put you in the corner for a bit until you calm the fuck down."

"I am not joking!" she insisted, squeezing the handle of the knife with such an intensity that the skin was close to breaking. Her eyes told America just how desperately she wanted to bury her knife in his flesh. She was fiercely agitated at being disregarded, so she turned on her heel, pushing past Russia roughly. "This party is no more! Big brother, you should begin flying back home!" she called over her shoulder with a decidedly vicious smirk. The door slammed after her.


	15. XV: Tears

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter XV: Tears**

_The evening is ruined._

* * *

Embarrassment. Utter and complete embarrassment. Shame, disappointment, _disbelief_. Russia clenched his hands in his beige coat and ducked into his scarf, his eyes flitting from tile to tile below his dark boots. He wished to block out the screams and sobs that broke the tense atmosphere, but clapping his shaky hands over his ears would only look foolish and weak. So he stood and endured it. He vaguely felt stares upon his body, and it only served to make him more uncomfortable. He dreaded the sight that would greet him when he finally ceased memorizing the floor. He remembered he was blocking the only doorway, so he awkwardly shuffled away and allowed curious countries to peer through the opening and figure out where the noise was coming from.

He wasn't sure where America had disappeared to, but he knew—hoped—the man would turn up before long. After all, it was nearly dinnertime, and Germany had ordered them all to show up for an important announcement. Even if he didn't seem to pay mind to an announcement, important or otherwise, he couldn't resist stuffing his face full of foreign delicacies. The thought was almost comforting enough to bring a small smile to his lips, but he instead winced and tightened his grip on his coat when his sister let out a particularly tortured-sounding screech. He released a heavy breath, finally raising his eyes to look over the heads of shorter nations in front of him.

The first thing he noted was Germany; normally proud, strong, and stoically militaristic. His lips were pulled back in a deep snarl, his icy blue eyes glinting with a fierce emotion. His normally slick, neat blond hair was mused from a recent scuffle. His pristine uniform was marred with splashes of blood and tears. The nasty-looking cut afflicting one of his high, pale cheekbones was nothing to scoff at, either.

His troubled eyes slid reluctantly from Germany to the other man that was restraining his little sister, Prussia. The mere sight of him made Russia want to spit onto the ground as if to rid himself of any impurities that may have entered his body during the encounter. The fact that his hands were all over his little sister, his face buried into her hair and neck to growl threats into her unwilling ears nearly forced a cry from his already battered throat. The man's crimson eyes were mere slits, and he was appearing worse for wear.

The pair of brothers had Belarus pinned to an island counter where various vegetables had been placed in preparation for dinner arrangements. The once crisp, fresh vegetables were coated with a fine layer of blood and sprinkled with the foulness of the events that had taken place there. The lettuce leaves drooped pathetically, and several were stabbed with knives of varying lengths and sharpness.

His sweet sister wailed and called for him, and his heart felt like the lettuce leaves upon the cutting boards. A knife of sorrow and guilt was stabbed through him, and it stung so deeply that he had to force the tears from his eyes. Again, he would not allow himself to appear weak in the presence of the greatest countries in the world. His lips moved, forming his sibling's name, but his voice did not participate. _Natalya, Natalya... How could I have allowed this to happen to you? Where did my sweet, loving sister go, and who is this... monster... that has taken her place?_

He turned his eyes from the gruesome sight so he wouldn't have to meet Belarus's dead, hollow eyes that dripped salty, pitiful tears. He swallowed thickly.

Germany was swearing in his native tongue, his muscles flexing with every effort he put into keeping Belarus contained. He was furious, _murderous_, even. His words didn't seem to be affecting the woman in his grip. "How dare you," he hissed, wrapping a punishing hand around her neck. "How _dare_ you hurt Italy!"

"The fool was asking for it, getting in the way of my revenge!" Belarus retorted, ignoring the hands that bruised her delicate flesh. She whipped her head around, attempting to bash Prussia in the nose and staring into Germany's piercing eyes at the same time. "_Nobody_ will keep me from slaughtering the Capitalist pig. He will die by my hands!"

Germany shook his head in frustration. He visibly strained himself to not snap the neck between his fingers. "Vhatever you have against America has _nozhing_ to do vith Italy. Italy vas innocent, und you attacked him! Zhis is not a matter of revenge, nein. Not anymore. You vill suffer imprisonment at my hands."

"Italy did not deserve vhat you did to him, you bitch!" Prussia snarled in her other ear. "Und you sure as fuck aren't taking America!"

"Brother!" Belarus yelped, kicking her legs out and flailing her head back and forth. Her narrowed eyes sought Russia's familiar stature in the crowd gathering outside the kitchen door. "Brother, let me out of this! Get this filth off me!"

He knew some of the countries were giving him curious and suspicious looks, gauging his reaction. He knew Belarus expected him to bail her out, exercising the authority his intimidating mass projected. He knew he certainly wasn't being viewed in a positive light.

Russia squared his shoulders and strode forward. The countries parted immediately so he could pass the doorway and enter the kitchen. His violet eyes finally locked with his sister's blue. He shuddered at the swirls of _madness_ that struggled to suck him in. His ill sibling. His unwell Natalya. He pursed his lips and tensed his already stiff form.

"Brother, I—" Belarus began, but her head suddenly flew to the side, colliding with Prussia's. Her eyes widened considerably, and her lips parted in a gasp. She stared at the wall, unmoving, for several seconds. She could hear the startled murmuring that came from their audience.

Russia bit his lip, ashamed of himself, and he lowered his hand. Even the pleasure of causing Prussia pain couldn't compare to the overwhelming guilt of hurting his sister in the process.

Germany and Prussia, who was groaning in pain from the skull that had bashed his nose in, felt the body fall limp in their grasp.

"Belarus, Natalya... Sestra..." Russia trailed off, his eyes tracing the reddening mark upon his sister's cheek with regret, "..._You are unwell_. I have told you many times, and no matter what I try to do for you, you continue to harm others. You say you love me, but since your descent into insanity, I have seen no love in your dull eyes. Prosti menya... when you are released from your imprisonment, I will be waiting. Possibly with a straitjacket." With that, Russia turned on his heel, his scarf fluttering behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut at the sounds of his sister's renewed sobbing and begging, steeling himself.

* * *

America didn't show up for dinner. Whether it was from a blatant effort to disregard Germany's authority and leadership or from the horror of the day's events, Russia wasn't sure. While he sipped at his glass of water and contemplated opening his new bottle of vodka, he noted the somber mood that enveloped the table. There was no "loud" or "quiet" side to the table tonight. There was only the soft clinking of utensils on china and a few murmured requests for butter or salt. It was utterly depressing, but nobody was staring at him with silent accusations anymore.

Belarus had been taken away by Germany and Prussia, who had restrained her with rope and dragged her out the back entrance to a nondescript car. Russia knew his sister's sentence was going to be harsh and unforgiving, but he couldn't bring himself to protest it. Deep down, past his familial love for her, he agreed that she was unstable and needed to be punished for her brutal actions. He only wished that solitude would help her to gain control of her obsession and change her perspective. He suddenly felt the urge to contact Ukraine and talk to her about it.

They were still waiting for Germany to return and give them further instructions. Italy hadn't been seen since being hauled away half-conscious by his brother and Japan. America had disappeared when Italy had been taken away, clutching his side and leaking an ominous trail of blood. There was no news of the results of the misfortunes that had befallen those involved tonight, and the suspense was stifling.

There was no fancy, decorated meal tonight. Instead, a few of the countries had thrown together a simple dish of pasta and meatballs with salad. Russia chewed on the lettuce, wincing when a flash of blood and knives entered his mind. While he was sure the tainted vegetables hadn't been used for the dish, he was still uneasy about it.

"I wonder where Alfred went..." Canada murmured from a few seats down, staring dejectedly down into his plate of spaghetti. It was mostly untouched, for the Canadian was sick to his stomach with worry. "...He loves Italian food."

"Don't worry," England replied, his brow creased with slight emotion. "He will be fine. Starving yourself will certainly not help the situation any, so cease playing with your food and eat."

"I-I can't," he stuttered, shaking his head. "Not without Alfred. He's not here to enjoy this, so why should I?"

Russia frowned deeply, setting his fork down silently.

"Italy..." he continued with a heavy sigh. "I didn't see how bad his injuries were, but the amount of blood that had stained the kitchen gave me an idea."

England took a bite of his meal and folded his unoccupied hand in his lap. France was sitting next to him, but not once had the blond man spoken up or even looked away from the wine glass next to his plate. They nodded in agreement.

Suddenly, the front entrance doors slammed open, revealing the two brothers that were being awaited. Germany and Prussia strode forward with equally grim expressions.

"What happened?" China spoke up, standing from his chair.

"First of all," Germany began, taking his place at the head of the table and commanding utter silence while he spoke, "Italy vill be fine. He has been taken to a private unit for treatment. His vounds, vhile extensive, vill be nonexistent in a matter of days vith zhe unique recuperative attributes ve possess. He has been asleep since zhe incident und vill not be disturbed. Secondly, I do not know vhere America is, so do not ask. Third, zhis party is over. Ve vill allow you to sleep here through zhe night, as it is razher late, but ve vill be giving you all flights home early in zhe morning. Finally..."

Russia bit down on his gloved hand to contain his frustration. _Nyet, nyet..._

"...Belarus has escaped."


	16. XVI: The Calm After the Storm

**Disclaimer:** _Hetalia_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** A Long Winter

**Story Summary:** When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.

**Story Pairings:** America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, one-sided Belarus/Russia, one-sided Prussia/America.

* * *

**Chapter XVI: The Calm After the Storm**

_Belarus reminisces._

* * *

It was nearly midnight before America decided to show up. He shuffled down the hallway, one hand clasped over the injury in his side, and a grimace of defeat on his face. _What is wrong with me?_ he mused, swiping his non-bloodied hand across his forehead, clearing his sweaty bangs from his eyesight. His glasses were stored in a pocket in his pants. He felt weary, disappointed, ashamed, and most of all—baffled. His thoughts swam.

Many hours previous, America had rushed out the door after the murderous Belarus, dreading the path of destruction she would leave in her wake. He ignored Russia's calls for him, his mind set only on preventing the young woman from her ultimate goal. He pumped his legs, sprinting after the blonde woman. They nearly leaped down the staircase in their haste, and America reached out one hand, fingers outstretched, inches away from grabbing at the ribbon of her bow.

Belarus suddenly darted to the right, jumping onto the polished dining table, knocking numerous glasses and china plates to the ground as she struggled to escape the American on her heels. Her breath came out in harsh pants, and there was a wild, bright look in her eyes. A small smile adorned her lips. She landed roughly on the ground and again hurried away from America before he could catch her.

For a moment, her mind was at ease. She allowed her eyes to close, the memories to resurface.

"Vanya, look!" she cooed, throwing her arms out and spinning around in circles. She was dancing in the lightly falling snow, listening to her elder sister and brother chuckle at her antics. She soaked up the attention, glowing with happiness. Her skirt fluttered with her motions. The snow stretched on for miles in every direction, pure and untouched. Beautifully dangerous, rather like herself.

She was suddenly standing in a dim hovel, watching her sister place meager firewood in the dying fire. She rubbed her hands together and frowned. When a hand grasped onto her small shoulder, instead of feeling startled, she sighed contently, leaning back against the warm, hard figure behind her gratefully. She soaked up the body heat, knowing it was her brother trying to provide her with comfort. It is why she loves him so much. "It is so cold..."

"Belarus," a masculine voice murmured into her ear. He sighed, a light breath stirring her blonde hair. The hand disappeared from her shoulder, and the body moved away.

"No," she protested, moving backwards. She smiled wickedly at her older sister, watching her pretty features contort with confusion. She reached behind, searching for the familiar scarf. "Big brother, where is your scarf?"

"I don't have one," the voice replied, frustrated. "Belarus—"

"You do not call me that!" she cried, insulted. She sniffled. "I have a name..."

"Belarus." The voice was firm, cold, and lacking its normal affection. Why was her brother being so mean to her?

She whipped around, ready to yell at her beloved sibling for treating her so coldly, but she stopped short, eyebrows drawn up in bewilderment. America, clad in his full wartime uniform, had invaded their modest home, and he pointed a rifle at her. She slowly raised her hands in surrender as the fire died down to nothing. "Please do not shoot..."

"Where are the nuclear weapons?" he hissed, stabbing his rifle at her, stopping mere centimeters away from her tear-streaked face. "Do not lie; we have full intelligence on the existence of these weapons! And let me remind you that if you fire one at us, we'll have ten more ready to fire back at you!"

"Brother!" she yelped, taking a few steps backwards. Her back hit the wall. "We have nothing! We are just trying to survive these rough winter months..."

"You're the only one here," he reminded her threateningly. "I could take you prisoner, and nobody would be able to stop me."

"Brother Ivan would find me! He will slit your filthy throat! My siblings will not allow you to take me..."

"I'm not concerned." The pretty blue eyes sparkled with malevolence.

Without another thought, she fled, flinging herself under one of his arms, racing towards the exit, tears streaming down her face. She felt her dress rip at the side when it caught on the hinge. "Brother! Brother, where are you?" she shrieked. She collided bodily with the door, falling through it to the ground. She landed on her knees with a sickening crack, groaning.

"Get her!" voices commanded, and she found herself staring at the barrels of numerous rifles identical to the one America had been pointing at her moment before. She lowered her head, a sparkle of something in her hand catching her attention. A knife was clutched in her right hand. She wasn't sure exactly when she had picked it up, but she was grateful to have it. She squeezed her hand around it as tight as she could, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. _I am not weak... I will help Vanya win this war... We will prove our superiority._

With that thought, she flew at the nearest man, burying the knife in his arm. The resulting shout of agony and the squirt of blood across her face had her grinning widely. "For the motherland!" She ripped the knife from the muscle tissue and immediately plunged it into the man's collarbone. Blood sprayed onto her precious dress, and she immediately felt distraught. Her brother's precious gift was ruined. She would have continued stabbing the man in her blind fury, but hands ripped her away from him, and she found herself restrained against another body. A glance over her shoulder confirmed it to be America, his face twisted in horror and disbelief.

"_Get away from me!_" She slashed at his face, barely brushing the metal across his face. "Let go! Brother!"

America flinched away from the blade, and he lost his grip on the writhing female. He tensed when he felt her spin around, bracing himself for impact. Belarus didn't disappoint; the knife slid into his side as if he were melted butter. He let out a snarl, feeling warm, thick liquid pour down his side and soak his clothing. He fell against the wall, grabbing at his injury. His unoccupied hand found purchase around Belarus's wrist to prevent her from continuing to dig her weapon into him. Behind her, he could hear a man's sobbing and ragged breathing.

Belarus bared her teeth at him, her eyes unfocused.

He could feel his arm slipping, losing his grip. She was fierce and determined, and he only had one of his arms to keep her away. He squeezed his eyes closed as the last few shreds of his strength failed him. His arm fell away from her, and he grit his teeth. _God, it hurts so fucking much..._

His eyes shot open when he realized that Belarus's arms were around his neck, and she was clinging to him. He couldn't see her face. He remained still and silent against the wall.

"Brother..." she murmured into his neck, her tears wetting his collar. "I was so scared... Please do not leave me again. I do not want to be alone..."

He swallowed a lump in his throat, his eyes on Italy, who was slowly losing consciousness on the tiled floor while a yelling Germany and Prussia were hovering over him. They were yelling? He couldn't hear anything but the tortured, lonely murmurs upon his skin.

Belarus clung to America like he was her lifeline. She could no longer see the foreign soldiers. She was safe and back in Ivan's strong, warm embrace. It was so comforting. She could stay like this for the rest of her life, if he would allow. Ivan... Vanya... he was so incredible. She loved him with every bit of her heart. She loved him so much that she shook from the strength of the feeling, the passion that coursed through her. Ivan was safe, Ivan was warm. Ivan was her future husband and protector. "Do not leave me..." she whispered desperately. She must have communicated her thoughts aloud because the man she was connected with trembled.

Even as she spoke, she could feel arms wrenching her back painfully, forcing her from her brother's arms and shackling her against a rough surface that dug into her spine. She arched, a cry torn from her throat, lashing out at them with her nails. "_No! Brother! Help me!_" She could hear the men growling threats and insults into her ears. She ignored them, her eyes searching the snowy plains for her savior.

One of the men mentioned her deed, her bloody victory, and she retorted, "The fool was asking for it, getting in the way of my revenge!" Revenge? She bit her lip. Oh, America. He was threatening her beloved siblings and their well-being. He invaded their home and almost took her as prisoner. America. The name itself filled her with an uncontrollable fury. "_Nobody_ will keep me from slaughtering the Capitalist pig. He will die by my hands!"

Any other words that were spoken to her were lost when she spotted her brother's familiar towering stature approaching her from the treeline. She could focus on nothing else at that moment. "Brother, let me out of this! Get this filth off me!" She was flailing and kicking in an attempt to dislodge her captors.

The closer he came to her, the more she trembled with ecstasy. She stared deeply into his violet irises. She wanted to tell him how much he meant to her. Damned be the spectators, her captors. Ivan was the world to her, and he needed to know. "Brother, I—"

When Ivan's palm connected with her face, reality crashed down upon her. There was no snow, and there was no hovel where she and her siblings lived in. The soldiers holding her captive were not America's subordinates, and they weren't there to take her in for questioning about nuclear weapons. America was nowhere to be found, and Italy, the man she had viciously attacked, had also disappeared. She stared at the wall, unmoving. She had startled even herself. _What... what have I been doing?_ she wondered, wincing at the stinging upon her cheek. _Do I even know what year it is anymore?_

She would have raised her hand to cup her cheek—for once, not because her brother had simply touched it. _Vanya... you hit me. You have never hit me, not even when I proposed to you. Not even when I scared Ukraine or terrorized Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia. Not even when I left you to become independent._

"Belarus, Natalya... Sestra... _You are unwell_. I have told you many times, and no matter what I try to do for you, you continue to harm others. You say you love me, but since your descent into insanity, I have seen no love in your dull eyes. Prosti menya... when you are released from your imprisonment, I will be waiting. Possibly with a straitjacket."

She swiveled her head around, stunned, and watched Russia's back retreating. She was alone with two furious men and a crowd of baffled onlookers gawking at her appearance. She felt the tears fall from her lashes. She wanted to reach out and stop him, to wrap her arms around him and listen to his chest rumble as he spoke comforting words into her hair. However, she couldn't. Not only because her arms were restrained, but because of the way he looked at her and spoke to her. The disgust, the disappointment. He was ashamed of her, and he wouldn't be coming back. She was all alone.

She let out a tortured wail, falling limp against Germany and Prussia.

* * *

America slid his key into the lock of his room's door, turning it and listening to the click. He deposited the key in his jacket's pocket, turning the knob and pushing the door open. The moonlight greeted him, shining brightly through the floor-length windows. He averted his eyes, closing the door quietly behind him. He gingerly stepped around Russia's bed, making his way towards his own.

He could hear Russia's slow breaths, alerting him to the fact that the nation was asleep. He almost felt bad for showering, knowing it could possibly wake him up, but he was beyond disgusted by the dried, crusting blood beneath his clothing. He needed to shower and wash it away before he could even attempt to sleep. He fished around in his suitcase for pair of pajamas, shedding his jacket upon his bed.

He retreated with his fresh clothing to the bathroom, locking the doors and flicking the light on. He shielded his eyes with one arm at the assault of light, shuffling towards the shower. Once it was on and slowly becoming warm, he peeled his clothing off with a grimace. America dreaded looking at the damage in the mirror, even though he was familiar with his regenerative abilities. He sighed, turning and peering into the mirror, assessing the damage. It looked worse than it was, he knew, with the layers and layers of dried blood trailing down his hip and thigh. It went all the way down his leg and coated his foot, even. It was a nasty stab wound, but it was already almost completely closed up.

Sometimes it was really awesome to be a country.

He shook his head, walking back to the shower and climbing into the hot spray of water. He cleaned every inch of his skin carefully, scrubbing to rid himself of the lingering feeling of blood all over him. He wasn't in a war, so why did he have to feel like he was? His skin was rubbed a raw pink from the ferocity with which he scrubbed a soapy washcloth over himself. When he had finished, the washcloth was stained a light pink from the remainder of the blood. _It's a shame_, he thought with regret. It had been embroidered with his name, too. Something like that was worth millions, at least. He cracked a smile at his arrogant thoughts.

He clamored out of the tub, wrapping a fluffy white towel around him. He was out of clean towels, so he decided, reluctantly, to take one of Russia's to dry his hair with. The party couldn't possibly be lasting much longer with Italy in the hospital, so he felt no remorse. Whether or not the party would continue, he would head back tomorrow. Both of them would, he was sure of it.

He unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out when he had dressed himself in his fresh clothing. A glance at Russia's bed confirmed his previous premonition: Russia was wide awake, sitting on the edge of his bed, peering up at him in astonishment.

"Hey," America greeted without enthusiasm. He tossed Russia's towel onto his bed once his hair had dried sufficiently, gesturing to it. "I used your towel. I hope you don't mind, bro."

"Amerika," Russia whispered, standing, "where have you been? Where did you go?"

"I went for a little walk," he admitted, shoving his hands into his pajama pockets. He could feel his side throb with a dull ache. It hardly bothered him anymore, so there was no reason to mention it. "Things were gettin' a little intense, so I went out for a bit."

"What... what happened with Belarus? I could not find you, so I did not see what happened."

America shifted his weight onto his other leg in discomfort. He turned his head to stare out the window so he wouldn't have to look into those beautiful, confused violet eyes that searched him for answers. He said nothing.

"Amerika?"

"She's so..." America sighed, frustration overcoming him. "She's so confusing! How do you put up with it, Russia?"

"How do you mean?"

"One minute, she's fucking... psycho and a total freak... The next, she's a troubled young woman wanting a little attention." He turned to arch an eyebrow at him. "Or have you never seen that part?"

"Da, I have. When we were younger..." Russia chuckled humorlessly. "...Well, if you consider several centuries to be significant. Perhaps to you that is a long time, but to someone like me, it is a mere second."

"Did I... fuck something up? You know... during _that time?_ I remember seeing her when I came looking for you."

"I do not believe that to be only reason." Russia frowned. "Belarus... she has always been _weird_. Over the years, she has only lost her grip on reality more. I think we all have. Wars, economy, and to us, harsh winter."

"Why does she want to..." America shifted his weight, uncomfortable, "..._marry_ you?"

"I suppose she has always relied on me for protection and guidance. Since only recently, she has been a part of me. However, I am nothing but a brother to her, and it shall remain that way. I tell her this, and she simply ignores or denies it. Somehow, it all translate to more than what is appropriate."

"I'm surprised, you know, that she became independent. It seems like a good step in the right direction. As long as she stays away from you, I mean. It might take her a long time to spend even a day without thinking about you."

"Mmm," Russia hummed in agreement. He stood next to America and joined him in silent observation of the bustling city below them.

"Well, it's getting late, and I'm tired. I'm heading back to my country tomorrow." America tossed the damp towel off his blankets and folded his hands behind his back. His weary blue eyes regarded Russia.

"And I will join you!" Russia chirped, swiveling around to fully face the blond man.

"Sure, just let me talk it over with my boss, and I'll text you a date."

"Nonsense. I will go with you tomorrow."

"You just love to cause trouble for me, don'tcha?" America laughed nervously. "Fine, I'll mention it to my boss bright and early, then we can catch a flight."

Russia leaned in close, as if he were going to sweep America into a passionate kiss, but when he simply pecked the man on the nose, the American was left more confused about their relationship than ever before.


End file.
